The Christmas Raid

London, Dec. 18th, 1917

ALLEN TUCKER

And sings the song of Peace,

Of Peace on earth;

For it is Christmas tide.

THE night is cold,

The curving moon hangs low,

She rocks her babe,

A whistle sounds,

Another down the street,

A cannon fires,

Again, again,

Faster, faster,

Above a war-plane throbs,

Louder, louder,

Nearer, nearer.

Sudden the house leaps back,

A great noise splits the world,

A blinding light,

The affrighted house—shakes—stands.

Then all is still,

And very dark.

The babe lies dead;

Killed even in the encircling mother's arms.

While up above,

Between the glistening stars,

The angels sing,

Sing on in spite of war,

Peace, peace on earth,

To men of gentle will.