From the Rock Island Argus, October 4, 1913. By Henry Howland.

We dream of peace and we plan for peace,
    For peace we pray when we kneel at night,
And not for a day do we ever cease
    To watch for a fair excuse to fight;
We agree that war is a thing to dread,
    Its cause a crime and its cost a shame,
But we place a wreath on the captain’s head,
    And we grant the conqueror deathless fame.

We speak of the useless waste of blood,
    Of the bitter woe and the sinful strife,
But we mount our guns by the roaring flood
    And devise new schemes for destroying life.
Our envoys linger in foreign lands
    Inspiring trust and allaying hate,
But our ships are manned, and with ready hands
    We grasp our weapons and watch and wait.

We hear the sighs of the ones who bear
    The terrible cost of armament—
Who toil and give but who never share
    The glory for which their years are spent;
We shudder when innocent blood is shed,
    War is the world’s most ghastly shame;
But we twine a wreath for the captain’s head,
    And we grant the conqueror deathless fame.