Benjamin Franklin Washington

The Waste of War

Give me the gold that war had cost, 
Before this peace-expanding day,                                                                               
The wasted skill, the labor lost-                                                                                 
The mental treasure thrown away,                                                                       
And I will buy each rood of soil                                                                               
In every yet discovered land;                                                                                    
Where hunters roam, Where peasants toil                                                     
Where many peopled cities stand.

I’ll clothe each shivering wretch on earth,                                                                    
In needful, ay, in brave attire;                                                                              
Venture befitting banquet mirth,                                                                           
Which kings might envy and admire.                                                                            
In every vale, on every plain,                                                                                  
A school shall glad the gazer’s sight,                                                                 
Where every poor man’s child may gain                                                              
Pure knowledge, free as air and light.

I’ll build asylums for the poor,                                                                                 
By age or ailment make forlorn;                                                                          
And none shall thrust them from the door                                                                   
Or sting with looks or words of scorn.                                                                    
I’ll link each alien hemisphere;                                                                                    
Help honest men to conquer wrong;                                                                         
Art, science, Labor, nerve and cheer,                                                                    
Reward the poet for his song.

In every free and peopled clime                                                                             
A vast Walhalla  hall shall stand:                                                                                
A marble edifice sublime,                                                                                      
For the illustrious for the land:                                                                                
A Pantheon fro the truly great,                                                                                  
The wise, the beneficent and just;                                                                          
A place of wide and lofty state                                                                               
To honor and to hold their dust.
                                                                        Benjamin Franklin Washington
                                                                        The Daily Examiner
                                                                        San Francisco, California
                                                                        July 16, 1870