Classic Poem

THE ground was red with gore,
Red waves roll'd on the shore;
Uncoffin'd armies stiffen'd where they fell;
Cities and towns were void,
Deserted, sack'd, destroy'd,
And creeping things did in their ruins dwell.

Blood was upon the hills,
Blood oozed into the rills,
Stain'd the sad valleys, hung upon the reeds,
Dripp'd from the shatter'd plough,
Stared on the battery's brow.
And crimson'd was the verdure of the meads.

Ships home or outward bound
Founder'd, or ran a-ground;
The harbour-waves moan'd sadly on the strand;
Corn-fields were burnt with fire,
Orchard and vine, and dire,
Dark desolation frown'd on sea and land.

Wild War had dared his worst,
The red earth lay accurst,
Death had hewn clans to silence, — life had fled.
Now the hot waste was o'er,
And Havoc raved no more,
But sat with Misery gloating o'er the dead.

The sky wax'd wild and frown'd
Upon the gory ground,
And sad the requiem the great rain-drops made,
As the last warrior strode
Along the lonely road,
His right hand holding loose his broken blade.

A voice is in his ear,
It echoes loud and clear:
He pauses as the heights it thunders o'er:
" The day of Strife is done,
The crown of Peace is won,
And love has conquer'd, — war shall be no more. "

He flung his blade away,
And, travelling day by day,
O'er vale and mountain, reach'd a peaceful clime.
No sword or spear was there,
No war-shriek rent the air,
No brand of battle till the end of time.

Here grew the shining pine,
The box, the clustering vine;
The lion took the leaves from the child's hand;
And, " Praise to God's dear Son,
Heaven is on earth begun, "
Arose for ever from the joyful land.

Hasten that happy day,
Let not Thy chariot stay,
O blessed Prince of Peace, when love shall reign
In every human soul
From joyous pole to pole,
And earth pours forth one loud thanksgiving strain.