Closet Pacifist
Bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh,
Fruit of our age-long mother pain,
They have caught your life in the nation’s mesh,
They have bargained you out for their paltry gain
And they build their hope on the shattered breast
Of the child we sang to rest.
On the shattered breast and the wounded cheek-
O God! If the mothers could only speak!-
Blossom of centuries trampled down
For the moment’s red renown.
Pulse of our pulse, breath of our breath,
Hope of the pang that brought to birth,
They have flung you forth to the fiends of death,
They have cast your flesh to the cruel earth,
Field upon field, tier upon tier
Till the darkness writhes in fear.
And they plan to marshal you more and more-
Oh, our minds are numb and our hearts are sore!-
They are killing the thing we cherish most,
They are driving you forth in a blinding host,
They are storming the world with your eager strength-
But the judgment comes at length.
Emperors~ Kings! On your heedless throne,
Do you hear the cry that the mothers make?
The blood you shed is our own, our own,
You shall answer, for our sake.
When you pierce his side, you have pierced our side-
O mothers! That ages we have cried!-
And the shell that sunders his flesh apart
Enters our bleeding heart.
‘Tis over our bodies you shout your way,
Our bodies that nourished him, day by day
In the long dim hours of our sacred bliss,
Fated to end in this!
Governors! Ministers! You who prate
That war and ravage and wreck must be
To save the nation, avenge the state,
To right men’s wrongs and set them free-
You who have said
Bled must be shed
Nor reckoned the cost of our agony-
Answer us now! Down the ages long
Who has righted the mother’s wrong?
You have bargained our milk, you have bargained our blood
Not counted us more than the forest brutes;
By shameful traffic of motherhood
Have you settled the world’s disputes.
Did you think to barter the perfect bloom,
Bodies shaped in our patient womb,
And never to face the judgment day
When you and your kind should pay?
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
Hope of the pang we bore alone,
Sinew and strength of the midnight hour
When our dream had cometo flower.
O women! You who are spared our woe,
You who have felt the mother throe
Yet cannot know the stark despair
Of coffins you shall never bear-
Are you asleep that you do not care,
Afraid, that you do not dare?
Will you dumbly stand
In your own safe land
While our sons are slaughtered and torn?
Bravely through centuries we have borne
And suffered and wept in our secret place,
But now our silence and share are past,
The reckoning day has come at last-
We must rise! We must plead for the race!
You who behold the mother’s plight
Will you join our battle cry with might
Will you fight the mother’s fight?
We who have given the soldiers birth,
Let us fling our cry to the ends of earth,
To the ends of Time let our voice be hurled
Till it waken the sleeping world.
Warriors! Counsellors! Men at arms
You who have gloried in war’s alarms,
When the great rebellion comes
You shall hear the beat
Of our marching feet
And the sound of our million drums.
You shall know that the world is at last awake-
You shall hear the cry that the mothers make-
You shall yield-for the mother’s sake!
"On April 28, 1915, the year Battle Cry of the Mothers was published, Angela Morgan attended the International Congress of Women at The Hague, Holland. She served as one of 1,136 delegates to this ground breaking international conference to promote peace. Morgan recited her poem at this conference making Battle Cry of the Mothers an anthem for pacifism from the female perspective."
If Cindy Sheehan could have said it thusly, her voice would have been heard over a greater distance. Now she just sounds like a whiney, perimenopausal woman instead of the tragic and heroic figure she truly is.
Fruit of our age-long mother pain,
They have caught your life in the nation’s mesh,
They have bargained you out for their paltry gain
And they build their hope on the shattered breast
Of the child we sang to rest.
On the shattered breast and the wounded cheek-
O God! If the mothers could only speak!-
Blossom of centuries trampled down
For the moment’s red renown.
Pulse of our pulse, breath of our breath,
Hope of the pang that brought to birth,
They have flung you forth to the fiends of death,
They have cast your flesh to the cruel earth,
Field upon field, tier upon tier
Till the darkness writhes in fear.
And they plan to marshal you more and more-
Oh, our minds are numb and our hearts are sore!-
They are killing the thing we cherish most,
They are driving you forth in a blinding host,
They are storming the world with your eager strength-
But the judgment comes at length.
Emperors~ Kings! On your heedless throne,
Do you hear the cry that the mothers make?
The blood you shed is our own, our own,
You shall answer, for our sake.
When you pierce his side, you have pierced our side-
O mothers! That ages we have cried!-
And the shell that sunders his flesh apart
Enters our bleeding heart.
‘Tis over our bodies you shout your way,
Our bodies that nourished him, day by day
In the long dim hours of our sacred bliss,
Fated to end in this!
Governors! Ministers! You who prate
That war and ravage and wreck must be
To save the nation, avenge the state,
To right men’s wrongs and set them free-
You who have said
Bled must be shed
Nor reckoned the cost of our agony-
Answer us now! Down the ages long
Who has righted the mother’s wrong?
You have bargained our milk, you have bargained our blood
Not counted us more than the forest brutes;
By shameful traffic of motherhood
Have you settled the world’s disputes.
Did you think to barter the perfect bloom,
Bodies shaped in our patient womb,
And never to face the judgment day
When you and your kind should pay?
Flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone,
Hope of the pang we bore alone,
Sinew and strength of the midnight hour
When our dream had cometo flower.
O women! You who are spared our woe,
You who have felt the mother throe
Yet cannot know the stark despair
Of coffins you shall never bear-
Are you asleep that you do not care,
Afraid, that you do not dare?
Will you dumbly stand
In your own safe land
While our sons are slaughtered and torn?
Bravely through centuries we have borne
And suffered and wept in our secret place,
But now our silence and share are past,
The reckoning day has come at last-
We must rise! We must plead for the race!
You who behold the mother’s plight
Will you join our battle cry with might
Will you fight the mother’s fight?
We who have given the soldiers birth,
Let us fling our cry to the ends of earth,
To the ends of Time let our voice be hurled
Till it waken the sleeping world.
Warriors! Counsellors! Men at arms
You who have gloried in war’s alarms,
When the great rebellion comes
You shall hear the beat
Of our marching feet
And the sound of our million drums.
You shall know that the world is at last awake-
You shall hear the cry that the mothers make-
You shall yield-for the mother’s sake!
"On April 28, 1915, the year Battle Cry of the Mothers was published, Angela Morgan attended the International Congress of Women at The Hague, Holland. She served as one of 1,136 delegates to this ground breaking international conference to promote peace. Morgan recited her poem at this conference making Battle Cry of the Mothers an anthem for pacifism from the female perspective."
If Cindy Sheehan could have said it thusly, her voice would have been heard over a greater distance. Now she just sounds like a whiney, perimenopausal woman instead of the tragic and heroic figure she truly is.