Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3834/The War-Lord's New Year's Eve

by Owen Seaman

THE WAR-LORD'S NEW YEAR'S EVE.

Kaiser, what vigil will you keep to-night?
 Before the altar will you lay again
Your "shining armour," and renew your plight
 To wear it ever clean of stain?

Or, while your priesthood chants the Hymn of Hate,
 Like incense will you lift to God your breath
In praise that you are privileged by fate
 To do His little ones to death?

Will Brother Henry, knowing well the scene
 That saw your cruisers' latest gallant feat,
Kneel at your side, and ask with pious mient
 A special blessing on the fleet?

Will you make "resolutions?"—saying, "Lo!
 I will be humble. Though my own bright sword
Has shattered Belgium, yet will I bestow
 The credit on a higher Lord.

"What am I but His minister of doom?
 The smoke of burning temples shall ascend,
With none to intercept the savoury fume,
 Straight upward to my honoured Friend."

Or does your heart admit, in hours like these,
 God is not mocked with words: His judgment stands;
Nor all the waters of His cleansing seas
 Can wash the blood-guilt from your hands?

Make your account with Him as best you can.
 What other hope has this New Year to give?
For outraged earth has laid on you a ban
 Not to be lifted while you live.
O.S.

 

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