POETRY.
WHEN PEACE COMES.
WOULD we have peace? That would we all t As parched men dying for the stream.
The nations boil on, stumble, fall, Yearning to that great dream.
Yet if, to-morrow, peace were borne, God's boon, to His poor weary earth, Some hearts with strife might still be torn- Mirage their stream and dearth.
For what use peace to you or me
Though war through all the world should ewe,
What use to any save he be With his own self at peace(' If beacoq-fires leap far and near, And light but dark things in his soul; Or joy-bells peal, and he but hear Belle in his heart that toll; He will have lost his priceless part, Nor dare to join the victors' song,
And how shall march his hapless heart
With their brave hearts along? And who is he that forfeits all His proud share in the time to come?
Who at The Peace shall but recall To-day shamefaced and dumb?
Just that man is he—you or I—
How small soe'er his strength may be, Who lets one least power idle lie That makes for Victory.
He is it who, when war shall cease, Will wake to find hi a great chance flown,
And, midst a million hearts at peace,
No peace within his own. HARBERTON LTILHADI.
Previous page
