But when the war-worn, knowing all
Of glory, horror and hate,
Abandons all for the heart's sure call
And the need of a stricken mate.
Better than all the man-made creeds
Begotten in hate's foul fog,
Furthered by dark and bloody deeds
In the name of the under-dog;
Better than 'rights' conceived in rage,
With policy, plot and plan,
Earth's rich, rejected heritage,
The love of man for man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem