Poor tired boys!

Poor tired boys!

Spirit-lives see them as they fall and hear them call—

Mother, where are you? It is dark and I am so tired and so afraid is what they hear again and again until their hearts ache with the pity of it.

So very many are just boys in their teens and have no more hate in them than if they were ten.

When these incarnate again—and they will soon—they will be born with such a passion for peace that war will be impossible.

They will die for peace, but never again for war.

Their suffering cuts so deeply— it will impress the next incarnation.

Never mind, sister, I used to cry too at first, but I see now that a lasting peace is bought by the lives of those who go out hating war.