WWI American
Immigrant Poetry
O Prince of Peace, O Lord of War,
Unsheath thy blade without a stain,
Thy holy wrath shall scatter far
The bloodhounds from thy country’s fane!
Into thy hand the sword is forced,
By traitor friend and traitor foe,
On foot, on sea, and winged and horsed,
The Prince of Darkness strikes his blow.
Crush thou the Cossack arms that reach
To plunge the world into the night!
Save Goethe’s vision, Luther’s speech,
Thou art the Keeper of the Light!
When darkness was on all the lands,
Who kept God’s faith with courage grim?
Shall He uphold that country’s hands,
Or tear its members, limb from limb?
God called the Teuton to be free,
Free from Great Britain’s golden thrall,
From guillotine and anarchy,
From pogroms red and whips that fall.
May thy victorious armies rout
The yellow hordes against thee hurled,
The Czar whose sceptre is the knout,
And France, the harlot of the world!
But thy great task will not be done
Until thou vanquish utterly
The Norman sister of the Hun,
England, the Serpent of the Sea.
The flame of war her tradesmen fanned
Shall yet consume her, fleet and field;
The star of Frederick guide thy hand,
The God of Bismarck be thy shield!
Against the fell Barbarian horde
Thy people stand, a living wall;
Now fight for God’s peace with thy sword,
For if thou fail, a world shall fall!
OH Fürst des Friedens, Herr im Streit,
Zieh’ nun dein fleckenreines Schwert,
Dein heiliger Zorn soll jagen weit
Den Bluthund von des Landes Heerd!
Es zwang den Stahl in deine Faust
Der falsche Freund, der falsche Feind—
Des Höllenfürsten Fackel braust:
Land, Luft und Meer blutrot erscheint!
Schlag’ du den Reussen, der in Schmach
Und Finsternis die Welt zerbricht!
—Was Luther lehrte, Goethe sprach,
Erhalt uns du! Du bist das Licht!
Als Dunkel lag ob allem Land,
Du standst für Gott mit stolzem Mut!
—Und Gott sollt’ dir entzieh'n die Hand,
Dein Volk ertränken tief in Blut?
Gott wollte frei den Deutschen, frei!
Frei von Britannia’s goldenem Klang,
Von Anarchie und Tyrannei,
Von Aufruhr frei und Peitschenzwang!
So zeig’ dein Schwert im Sonnenlicht,
Dem gelben Hund, der dich anbellt,
Dem Zar, der mit der Knute ficht,
Frankreich, der Metze aller Welt!
Doch eher tilgst du nicht die Schmach,
Oh Sankt Georg, eh’ nicht dein Speer
In starkem Stoss den Kopf zerbrach—
England, dem Drachen aus dem Meer!
Die Flamme, die sein Rachen speit,
Ihn selbst verzehrend, überquillt!
——Sei Friedrich’s Stern nun dein Geleit!
Und Bismark’s Gott—er sei dein Schild!
Oh Fürst des Friedens, Herr im Krieg,
Zieh’ stolz hinaus aufs blutige Feld:
Dein muss er sein, der letzte Sieg,
Denn—wenn du fällst—fällt eine Welt!
O Prince of Peace! our Lord in war,
Draw now thy bright and stainless blade,
Thy righteous wrath shall scatter far
The bloodhounds which our hearth invade.
By faithless friend and treacherous foe
The steel was thrust within thy hand;
Hell’s torch is blazing now, and lo!
Bloodred seem sea and sky and land!
Smite thou the Tsar, whose shameful yoke
Enslaves a world in mental night;
What Luther taught and Goethe spoke
For us hold fast! Thou art our light.
When darkness lay on every land,
Thou stoodst for God, with fearless frown;
Shall God from thee withdraw His hand,
Or let in blood thy people drown?
God wished the German to be free;
Free from Britannia’s clink of gold,
From anarchy and tyranny,
From pogroms and the knout . . . unrolled.
In sunlight, therefore, show thy sword
To barking cur of yellow face,
To Tsar, with all his whip-lashed horde,
To France, the strumpet of the race.
Yet, ere the shameful score is clear,
O Saint George, with triumphant ease
Transfix upon thy mighty spear
Old England, dragon of the seas!
The fire its throat spits out in pride
Itself shall burn with wounds unhealed;
Meanwhile be Frederick’s star thy guide,
And Bismarck’s God thy constant shield!
O Prince of Peace! in war our Lord,
Go proudly to thy flags unfurled!
As Victor, must thou sheathe thy sword,
For, if thou fallest, falls . . . a world!
