Oh, where go the children of each generation
Whose innocence played at the bordering nation?
Smiles and laughter each little face wore,
But must they change - to the face of war?

We may dream of the hero from trojan shore,
Or, perhaps the mongol in Asian Lore,
Somewhere, distorted, twixt bravery and fear.
Our eyes we shut, - nothing is clear.

What gain has it been through all the tears,
Long suffering and strife for a thousand years?
And, in my mind, I hear once more,
The banshee wail - in the face of war.