The Conquering Army

The Conquering Army By Katrina Trask [The following poem was sent to President Heber J. Grant by Mr. Chauncey P. Overfield, Vice-president of the American Stoker Company, New York, who thinks it will appeal to President Grant, "by reason of his special versatility," and will be of good use in creating a sentiment for the abolition of war. It is timely, in view of the conference for the limitation of armaments now in session at Washington. It points in the direction of the aspirations that we all have for a better day. The poem was written and published by the author, Katrina Trask, (Mrs. George Foster Peabody) in 1915.— Editors.] A mighty Host, implacable as Fate, Has marched, unceasing, through the centuries, Across the myriad passes of the earth. Men of all countries and of every clime Have swelled the countless number of the Host. Their garments, crimson-dyed, drip human blood: Their eyes are grim as graves; their rough-shod feet Trample fair women and frail new-born babes: Their hands, blood-stained, are quick to seize, to rend, To ravage, to destroy. O'er the green earth, Where they have passed, a withering blight remains; Red ruin, desolation, and the dead Heaped high as heaven, a ghastly spectacle. The little children, terror-stricken, run To fondle fathers dead upon the field, Or croon to outraged mothers, dead at home. Defenseless maidens die, defiled by men: And all things beautiful are desecrate. For numberlesss dark ages, marched the Host — And as they marched, they sang: Lo! We are the Army of Death; We care not for Mercy — for Right: Hot fury and flame is our breath: We battle for Conquest and Might. We go forth to slay and be slain: No mortal can stand where we pass: With dead we have powdered the plain, With blood we have poisoned the grass. Lo! We are the Army of Death, The merciless Army of Death, The conquering Army of Death. Yet, ever, in the record of the years, The conquest won, in turn, was swept away By later conquests of the conquering Host.

THE CONQUERING ARMY 227 Since time began, the devastating horde Has left no permanent, no living mark; Has no endurance found in victory; Nothing but irremediable woe, And bitter seeds for future harvesting — Hot hatred, and fresh greed for after-strife. Each hard-won truce was but a passing pause, Each conquest but a transitory gain In the long warfare of the waiting world. Strong Babylon and stately Nineveh In triumph rose to glory and renown, Flourished a fleeting day of royal fame, To be, once more, a low-leveled to the dust By later deeds of conquest and of doom: Great Persia, matchless Greece, majestic Rome, Each rose in pride, then prostrate fell again Before the trampling of the ceaseless Host. The towering Teutons, the remorseless Turks, The dauntless Anglo-Saxons and the Celts, The valiant Franks, the Latins and the Slavs, Have each, in turn, been drenched in blood of kin. After long centuries of savage reign, The ruthless, devastating horde became The finely-finished flower of Christendom — Baptized as Christians, civilized as men: Today, a purpose consecrate they hold — To guard high honor, and to serve mankind: The glory of aggression they disclaim — Vaunting ambition, selfishness, and greed: In splendid armed peace they now await The call of Duty — the appeal for help, Then bravely march, with fine-intentioned zeal. Yet still they are the mighty Host of Death, Who consecrate themselves to butchery With lofty purpose and supreme intent: They kill for honor, and for justice slay: And as they march they sing: Lo! We are the Army of Death: Great wrongs at our coming shall cease: God breathes in our spirit His breath: We battle for Mercy and Peace. We go forth to slay and be slain: For Duty and Justice we fight. We care not for gold nor for gain, We battle alone for the Right. Lo! We are the Army of Death, The civilized Army of Death, The Christianized Army of Death. And still they slaughter — as they go to serve, Equipped with frightful engines, swift to kill: The mutilated men by millions fall In trenches red with horror, piled with dead:

IMPROVEMENT ERA Still, as of old, the orphaned children cry, In blackened towns laid waste and desolate, And maidens, forced to bitter motherhood, Are left to curse the day that, they were born. Men are insane with slaughter, drunk with blood, The toxic curse of war: there is no way Of killing they forget, no fiendish mode Of torture they forego: a shrieking Hell Is found where'er they fight. Before they march, The Army, in God's holy name, is blessed, And over implements of war is made, And on rewards for bravery is wrought The awful and historic cross of Christ Who died to teach men Love for all mankind. The patient God, the while, looks down from Heaven And laughs with humor infinite, divine. He knows old ways will bring but old results. To punish like with like, makes like, again: The thistle from the thistle seed must spring: Swords are the destined harvest of the sword. But see! Behold! from the awakened East — Where shines the splendor of the morning star, Where spreads the effulgence of the coming Dawn, Which heralds the glad birth of a new Day — A valiant company is moving on, An Army quiet, unregarded, small, Devoid of flaming arms and armaments, But terrible with Banners: strong in soul: Brave men and women with their hearts aflame To dare, to do, to help and to endure. Their wind-swept garments smell of fragrant flowers And spicy odors of the woodland pine — No stench of blood is flaunted from the folds. With perfect poise this Army marches on, Unheeding cruel taunts and mocking sneers, More sharp than bullets to the conscious heart: When jeering men "white-livered cowards" hiss, High courage is the conquest they attain — To stay the hand and smile in steadfast strength. Their eyes are glowing with an inward light, As though they looked upon the great Unseen: Their hands are quick to bind, to soothe, to bless. How beautiful their onward pathway shines! The yellow corn springs high, the golden grain Waves promise on a thousand fruitful hills: Great cities rise, enduring works increase; Glad homes are crowned with comfort and with care: And brooding science finds new secrets out. The glory of accomplishment is theirs, The mission of the mighty enterprise —

THE CONQUERING ARMY 229 To conquer nature and to master art. The secret of eternal harmony — The reconciliation of the world. The Army's ranks grow larger, year by year — Its dauntless power invincible becomes: Naught turns nor swerves it from its onward course — No persecuting jest, no argument, No noisy talk of Honor — every man And every woman in the Army knows That Honor is a holy thing, too dear To leave to the arbitrament of arms, To fatal hazard of chance shot and shell. And as they march they sing: Lo! We are the Army of Life! We are clothed with the strength of the Sun, We are marching to conquer strife, We carry nor sabre nor gun. Bright blossoms immortal shall spring In the way that our feet have trod: A guerdon of giving we bring — Good-will unto all men from God. Lo! We are the Army of Life, The terrible Army of Life, The conquering Army of Life. By Nature's laws made manifest to man, All Death is but Negation — dark decay: Life is the vital spark that brings forth life: Death shall be swallowed up in Victory. All Hail, O Conquering Army of the Dawn!