Fallen

He rattled the sword in its sheath;
    He threatened; he boasted of might;
Earth trembled, his thunder beneath;
    Day passed for the terrors of night.

He planned for the conquest of man;
    He vapoured and posed as a king
Of the world, in a century's van.
    Whose glory the future would sing.

He rattled his sword in its sheath,
    He claimed irresistible might;
His millions have fallen beneath
    The heroes of freedom and right.

He formed alliances strong
    With hell and hell's legions on earth;
His alliance is shattered along
    The whole line for the new age’s birth.

Fallen! fallen! he fell by his pride,
    By the wrong he for selfish aims joined:
'Twas his own soul he sold when he lied,
    And by perjury himself purloined.

Yes, fallen and fled from his land,
    Abhorred and hated by those,
The bondslaves at his command,
    Now changed to his bitterest foes.

For fallen is all his array
    Of powers united for war.
All his people drank to "The Day";
    It came – and broken they are.

All fallen, while millions are dead,
    And hunger and woe stalk abroad,
While the nations of free men are led
    To sing Hallelujahs to God.

Oh, the dear dead we mourn shall arise
    From the dust that affords them long sleep,
To reign with their Lord in the skies,
    And mourners shall no longer weep.

While he is in shame and disgrace,
    Like Pharaoh, only a name,
That one time had eminent place,
    But has passed to perpetual shame.

R. W. R. RENTOUL.

Poem: The Witness, 29 November 1918
Image: 'The Sands Run Out' from Punch, 13 November 1918.