SPINDRIFT white shall her victims stand
On the ivory quay, untrod
By living feet, when she nears Ghoststrand,
To point her out to God.
The Babies Of The ‘Lusitania’
THOSE rosy, dimpled darlings cast
So roughly to the sea,
Wondering their bathtub was so vast,
Reaching for breast and knee,
Too innocent to understand
What hate and murder are,
But puzzled that the dandling hand
Had let them drop so far,
Swallowing like milk the bitter foam,
Dismayed to miss their breath,
Our little guests from Heaven went home
In the great arms of Death.
O Land of Toys and Christmas Trees,
Dear Land of Fairy Tales,
How will your heart be panged for these
When war’s red frenzy pales!
God pity Germany in all
The grieving years to be
When through her cradle-songs shall call
Drowned babies from the sea.
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