O, Little David, play on your harp, br That ivory harp with the golden strings br And sing as you did in Jewry Land, br Of the Prince of Peace and the God of Love br And the coming Christ Immanuel. br O, Little David, play on your harp. br br A seething world is gone stark mad; br And is drunk with the blood, br Gorged with the flesh, br Blinded with the ashes br Of her millions of dead. br From out it all and over all br There stands, years old and fully grown, br A monster in the guise of man. br He is of war and not of war; br Born in peace, br Nurtured in arrogant pride and greed, br World-creature is he and native to no land. br And war itself is merciful br When measured by his deeds. br Beneath the Crescent br Lie a people maimed; br Their only sin-- br That they worship God. br On Russia's steppes br Is a race in tears; br Their one offense-- br That they would be themselves. br On Flander's plains br Is a nation raped; br A bleeding gift br Of "Kultur's" conquering creed. br And in every land br Are black folk scourged; br Their only crime-- br That they dare be men. br br O, Little David, play on your harp, br That ivory harp with the golden strings br And psalm anew your songs of Peace, br Of the soothing calm of a Brotherly Love, br And the saving grace of a Mighty God. br O, Little David, play on your harp.