Peace to the World

They die in dust. Men, women, children,
Nor know not whence they came, nor why.
But they come again in righteous fire
And ire of figuration,
Wherever now they be.

The things and petty stars that light
A comfortable, skimped and maudlin sight
Of what there then scapes, thins,
commands, as does
And dies, our Lord,
Where one day He will heave the sword -

Not of vengeance, but of right,
Where they themselves demand to smite
And then surcease.

And with our God - and theirs - just peace.

[Prompted by the shocking scenes from Libya, but applicable to so much else]