What change is loosed from trench, that tomb of war;
a generation loved is sunk in Flanders' gore.
The toll of men dispenses lasting grief,
to Britain altered; hastened unbelief.
At parlour tables join your hands and call
on spirits of the sons you sent to war.
Where now the Prince of Peace you claim to heed?
Dismembered on a field of unbelief.
Christ's call to love is lost in battle cry
and empire-building; these are glorified
more than he who gave his dying breath,
for we who turn our face in unbelief.