The Call

Far and near, high and clear
Hark to the call of War
Over the gorse and the golden dells
Ringing and swinging the clamorous bells
Praying and saying of wild farewells:
War! War! War!

High and low, all must go:
Hark to the shout of War!
Leave to the women the harvest yield;
Gird ye, men, for the sinister field;
A sabre instead of a scythe to wield;
War! Red war!

Rich and poor, lord and boor
Hark to the blast of War!
Tinker and tailor and millionaire
Actor in triumph and priest in prayer
Comrades now in the hell out there
Sweep to the fire of War!

Prince and page, sot and sage
Hark to the roar of War!
Poet, professor and circus clown
Chimney-sweep and fop of the town
Into the pot and be melted down:
Into the pot of War!

Women all, hear the call
The pitiless call of War!
Look your last on your dearest ones
Brothers and husbands, fathers, sons:
Swift they go to the ravenous guns
The gluttonous guns of War

Everywhere thrill the air
The maniac bells of War
There will be little of sleeping to-night;
There will be wailing and weeping to-night;
Death's red sickle is reaping to-night:
War! War! War!
War! War! War!
War! War! War! War!
War! War! War! War!
War! War! War! War!
War! War! War! War!