The war is at hand; All over the land

Great travail shall rage to the end;

The enemy gathers his hordes to kill

And many the graves he will fill;

But the dead unnumbered they will be

Where strewn o’er land and in the sea,

For, thousands none can be then recgonized,

Torn by explosives now devised.

When war is declared then none will be spared,

Now for the conflict they’ve prepared;

The hour is at hand when every land

Will take each his sword in his hand,

Yea, all nation arise, armed to the skies,

With weapons which in heaven flies.

Behold, they will come to this land, and strike

With destruction, and as they like;

And flying hither and yon through the air,

Spread as tgey go a trail of fire;

Where now great cities stand will remain ash

And their smoke rise high with the crash;

Thus, in the confusion chaos will reign,

And attempted defense in vain;

Not a city or hamlet will escape

The hand of the enemy’s rape.

Upon turning over the sheet:

Now prophesy more: From shore unto shore

None will be seen with draped soor,

For every hand of strength, not the spade

But to his weapon will be laid;

Recall ye the former nations destroyed,

And consider the ruins, void,

And uninhabited; Emptiness marks

Their civilization; bespeaks

The voicelessness of their mighty nation;

(No greater since the earth’s creation)

For, “few” shall stand when all war is over

To name his neighbor “My Brother”.

-H. Scott