If sacred land we tread with hearts
Uncluttered by cares that fill our days,
And if we turn with all our skill and arts,
And vow to mend our mindless ways,
And if we turn our Love on all that we see,
And hate not the bad and loving still,
Those that do harm us then surely we'll be
Children of Love, beset by no ill.
For how can it be that blood is shed still,
When all these long centuries lo, it's been shed?
Has it not been enough, have we not had our fill?
Will we not stop to count the numberless dead?
Will we still let warmongers be leaders of men,
Shouting "FREEDOM!" and "PEACE!" from the end of a blade?
Do we still believe violence can be violence's end
Or that war ever anything but misery made?
Let us turn then in Love, on sisters and brothers,
On mothers and daughters, on fathers and sons.
If we are to be saved it won't be by others;
Look around, behold, we're the only ones.
So I say only Love can heal our ache,
We must Love and Love, 'till our hardened hearts break.