Classic Poem

There's now one sound above the battle blown,
Above the nations hurling flame for flame—
One love which hate itself is proud to own,
One voice of man tumultuous with thy name,
Shakespeare! The kingdoms of divided earth
Honor to-day thy conquests o'er them all,—
And none who know the meaning of thy worth
To-day will use thee for their clansman call.
But rather, in these hundred years times three
Of power still creating light and life,
We find the omen of thy work to-be—
Hereafter healer of these wounds of strife.
Above the battle we behold thy face,—
Above the battle a united race.