Bless the executioner for he knows not what he doesnTake the hangman into yourself, he is afraid of bloodnTake the soldier to the sea, let him sleep upon the sandnAnd give the axe-man sympathy for he hates his own handsnnGive the torturer a break, he is really very shynFrown not at the man behind the gun for he is afraid to dienBless the soldier and every man upon the battle fieldnEach one would like to be home, each one knows he will be killednnThough death is so unnecessary, tradition feels it mustnCondemn a man to die or elseways be turned into dustnOfficials feel that they are gods and must give all they can givenBut each one of us is God himself and has every right to livennAlways smile at the mask of hate for it covers a sad facenPacify the nervous, put them gently in their placenShow children to the old man who speaks only of his warnAnd then kiss Death upon the cheek, let it think for ever more