One Woman's Voice Against War

I

The voice of my sisters I hear (Oh voice of the summer leaves!

Oh voice of the murmuring waters! Oh, light if it laughs or it grieves!)

They are sending you forth, O men; they are bidding you arm straightway;

But they see not, as I can see, men biting the dust in the fray,

They see not, as I can see, men pouring the blood of the brave--

And the craven, at home, survives, while the hero sleeps in his grave!

They see not, as I can see--that their daughters' daughters shall wed

With the sons of the craven, born of the blood too pale to be shed!

They see not, the money-changers unscourged in the temple remain,

When those that were fearless to strike--the best of the nation are slain;

For the veins of a race once shrunken, the hearts of the race beat low,

And the valor we worshipped--a flame unfed--no longer shall glow!

II

The voice of my sisters I hear: "We offer our dearest, our all,

Father, and brother, and lover, for country, if need be, to fall!

What more can we pledge than we pledge--as daughters, as sisters, as wives?"

Let the voice of my sisters be mute, for they hold their inviolate lives!

Not a hair of their heads shall be stirred by the wind of the winnowing shot;

They shall not languish in prison, nor in the dull earth be forgot!

One is the life of each mortal--and that is not theirs, which they yield!

Let them be hushed to remember the breast of the man is their shield:

Not till her life she shall peril on battle's shivering edge,

The soul of a woman shall waken, to know how costly the pledge!

III

The voice of my sisters forgive! Forgive them, ye men who are theirs;

For they know not the words they utter, sending ye forth, though with prayers.

I have none of my own to send forth; but, for swordmen doomed to the sword,

Tears were my daily drink, were the blood of the meanest out-poured!

Awake, or asleep, I should see the dark stream with the life taking flight--

The damp of the death-dew beading--the eye without vision or light!

My sisters--they see not the sight, or their lips would be holden of speech,

And the voice of their hearts, ever sleepless, for "peace," and but "peace!" would beseech.

by: Edith Matilda Thomas (1854-1925)