Was It For This The Clay Grew

I Thought Of All That Worked Dark Pits Of War, And Died Digging The Rock Where Death Reputes Peace Lies Indeed.

Happy Are Men Who Yet Before They Are Killed Can Let Their Veins Run Cold.

The War Affects Me Less Than It Ought. But I Can Do No Service To Anybody By Agitating For News Or Making Dole Over The Slaughter.

I Don't Ask Myself, Is The Life Congenial To Me? But, Am I Fitted For, Am I Called To, The Ministry?

The Old Lie:dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori.