Iconoclasts

By Grace Ingles Frost

Dark chariots of conflict shall no more
Crush ‘neath their wheels what our travail has won;
No longer to the gruesome god of war
Will we pay tribute with a mate or son –
The throne of Thor, the Thunderer, must fall!
We speak – the women – the iconoclasts,
Whose will shall rend to shreds the sombre pall
That through the years, too long, deep shadow casts.
From the rude garner of war’s aftermath,
An oriflame of peace for land and sea,
We must create to safely tread man’s path –
A flag to wave throughout futurity.
The task is ours, a pagan god to quell –
His idols break and end war’s reign of hell!

(1932)