In That Rough Barn We Knelt Poem by Alec de Candole

In that rough barn we knelt, and took and ate
Simply together there the bread divine.
The body of God made flesh, and drank in wine
His blood who died, to man self-dedicate.
And even while we knelt, a sound of hate
Burst sudden on us, as our shrieking line
Of guns flashed bursting death, a thunderous sign
Of raging evil in our human state.
Strange state ! when good must use (nor other can)
The tools of ill, itself from ill to free.
And Christ must fight with Satan's armoury.
What strange and piteous contrast may we scan,
The shell that slays, and Christ upon the tree,
The love that died, and man that murders man !