Sonnet written during the Fighting in Ireland.

God! (if you be a god) who flung this ball
Into the welter where its path is laid
Look on the beastly things that you have made!
Look how in misery your children crawl—
Gaze upon man's betrayal and his fall!
For lies and hatred, hatred and lies are paid,
Wisdom is not, and Honour goes afraid—
Terror and bloodiness embrace asprawl.

Yet are there things we do thank you for—
Beautiful Paces of friends, though beauty die.
This decorated earth and its green floor,
Trees and the happy bird that flutes and trills.
Morning that comes swift-footed on the hills.
Night and the dark unutterable sky.

J. C. B.