'Is this century worse than those before?'

'Is this century worse than those before?'
Is this century really worse than those before?
Perhaps, in that dazed by fear and grief,
It touched a blackest sore
It could not heal.

In the west the earthly sun shines yet,
And city roofs gleam in its light,
But here the white one marks doors with crosses,
Summons the crows, and the crows are in flight.