Poem by Wilfred Owen

Le Christianisme

So the church Christ was hit and buried
Under its rubbish and its rubble.
In cellars, packed-up saints long serried,
Well out of hearing of our trouble.

One Virgin still immaculate
Smiles on for war to flatter her.
She's halo'd with an old tin hat,
But a piece of hell will batter her. 

1. On My Songs
2. Training
3. Schoolmistress
4. Cramped in That Funnelled Hole
5. The Chances

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