A century ago, with Britain at war, the Woman’s Dreadnought published this poem:
CHRISTMAS EVE
– to man the comfortable
Hark, O, Hark the herald angels sing
Glory to the new-born heavenly King!
Come near the fire and closer draw the ring,
Lest we may see the grey of human ways
About us: children’s voices sing the praise
Of Him who was the hope of mortal days;
Peace comes to-night; while out in the cold street
Men starve and drag along slow weary feet.
Soul, oh Man, and body hast thou sold
Of some; the brethren from the bed of Wrong,
And doomed the rest, through bitter greed of gold,
Stout sinew and strong life, to bend and plod
In dull mechanic toil, oh Century-long
Abomination in the face of God
ERIC CHAPPELOW
