In God's good time this agony shall cease
And gentle peace return. But stark and numb
Some lie beneath Caucasian snows, and some
In parching desert sands, and some the seas
Engulf eternally. Remembering these
That crave not earthly peace, God grant we come,
When all the thunder of the guns is dumb,
With clean hands to the making of that peace.
With clean hands, and with heart regenerate,
Not seeking, vengeance, purified by pain.
Nowise unmindful of the dead that wait
With silent witness of expectant eyes ;
Thus only may we turn their loss to gain.
And win redemption through their sacrifice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem