Long 'tis since from their mellow throats
   The music showered down,
A sudden storm of golden notes,
   Like laughter on the town.


I see them in their narrow room,
   And feel as when a boy
They live and breathe condemned to gloom,
   With hearts that ache for joy.


They wait the whisper in their cell
   Will stir them, and release
The soul of Christ in every bell,
   The passion that is Peace!

"E.D."
The Bulletin, 19 October 1916, p3