I once read an account that young men killed on the beaches of Normandy, as they lay dying, called out for their mothers. I tear up at even the glancing thought of the cries of the children in Connecticut and dare not take the mental walk down that road.
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”