Of the poor wanderer. What! your peace admits 'Tis nowise peace; 'tis treason, stiff with doom,— "Tis gagged despair and inarticulate wrong, O Lord of Peace, who art Lord of Righteousness, Constrain the anguished worlds from sin and grief, Pierce them with conscience, purge them with redress, And give us peace which is no counterfeit! WHEN THE GREAT GRAY SHIPS COME IN New York Harbor, August 20, 1898 GUY WETMORE CARRYL To eastward ringing, to westward winging, On winds and tides the gospel rides That the furthermost isles are free; Breaker and beach cry, each to each, ""Tis the Mother who calls! Be still!" And strong to hold from harm, The shield of her sovereign arm, Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, Who calls again to the leagues of main, And the great gray ships are silent, The black cloud dies in the August skies, A glory of crimson bars, And far above is the wonder of A myriad wakened stars! Peace at last! is the bugle blast Are lit with the glad release, From ship to ship and from lip to lip Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show The sons of those who swept the seas South and North at the call stood forth, For the soul of the soldier's story And the heart of the sailor's song Are all of those who meet their foes Yes, it is good to battle, And good to be strong and free, When the ships round heads for home, And the people wait at the haven's gate Thank God for peace! Thank God for peace, A SONG FOR PEACE JOAQUIN MILLER As a tale that is told, as a vision, That the true shall endure the derision Ay, forgive as you would be forgiven; For who shall have bread without labor? And who shall have rest without price? And who shall hold war with his neighbor With promise of peace with the Christ? The years may lay hand on fair heaven; May place and displace the red stars; May stain them, as blood stains are driven At sunset in beautiful bars; May shroud them in black till they fret us But the precepts of Christ are beyond them; The truths by the Nazarene taught, With the tramp of the ages upon them, They endure as though ages were naught; The deserts may drink up the fountains, Mutations of worlds and mutations Go forth to the fields as one sowing, There are seeds that take root without showing, And the sun shall shine sooner or later, Though the midnight breaks ground on the morn, Then appeal you to Christ, the Creator, And to gray-bearded Time, His first-born. ODE SUNG AT THE OPENING OF THE ALFRED TENNYSON UPLIFT a thousand voices full and sweet, In this wide hall with earth's invention stored, And praise the invisible universal Lord, Who lets once more in peace the nations meet, Where Science, Art, and Labor have outpour'd Their myriad horns of plenty at our feet. O silent father of our Kings to be, For this, for all, we weep our thanks to thee! |