Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Voice of the Crutch

I am the voice of the crutch,
    And over the whole world's noise
The new world rising from the blood-stained dust
And ashes, and smouldering ember--
    Over earth's pæan of hopes and joys,
And its reborn faith and trust,
My voice shall be saying 'Remember,'
With my thump, thump, thump, I shall say to the world 'Remember.'

I shall thump my wearisome way
    Down over decades to be;
My voice will be heard for threescore years,
A dissonant note in life's measure.
    A jarring refrain in its song of glee
That will change youth's laughter to tears,
And shadow its moments of pleasure.
With my thump, thump, thump, I shall shadow earth's moments of pleasure.

All over the whole wide world,
    As I thump out my note of pain,
The cry of the maimed and blind and deaf
Shall into a chorus swell it;
    For the voice of Peace cannot utter a strain
That shall drown war's story of sin and grief,
And mine is the task to tell it.
With my thump, thump, thump, I shall go through the world and tell it.

I shall tell the story of war,
    And murder and lust and wrong;
Of deeds too dark to be given name;
Of children sired by a sabre;
    And a hybrid race will join in my song,
While a sad world listens in shame
As it bends to its peaceful labour.
With my thump, thump, thump, I will sing to it in its labour.

I would hinder the growing world
    As it hurries along in the race
And builds for beauty and peace,
From thinking of war as glory.
    I would have it look war in the face
With a horror that cannot cease
Through knowing the truth of the story.
With my thump, thump, thump, I will tell to the last that story. 

1. The Birth of the Orchid
2. The Call (All wantonly in hours of joy)
3. Be Not Attached
4. Behold the Earth
5. The Black Charger

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