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Will future generations understand
The turmoil of these days, the strain and stress,
The dawn's despair, the night's uneasiness,
The greed of itching palms throughout the land?
Will they conceive the fires fanatics fanned,
Of time the universal wastefulness,
The strange philosophies the mobs confess
That every throat cry out some new demand?

Time was when men held saner counsel here.
Will that time come again? Shall we behold
From this grim madness some new love unfold?
We pray for gentler times, when man shall cease
His brother man to bully or to fear.
Great God, among ourselves let us have peace!

Crisis by Max Ehrmann

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