Classic Poem

He shall not fight for lust of might,
The sons of men he shall not slay;
His sword shall be a sword of light
To bring the larger day.
Wrapped in this little sleeping frame,
Curled in this heart, so small, so deep,
A summons out of heaven came,
A Primal Pledge to keep.

O little dreaming son of mine,
I see Creation's purpose shine.
The mother soul that finely hears
The music of the brooding spheres,
Hath told the message thou didst bring,
The song that I must sing.
Mothers have sung of sword and shield,
The splendor of the battlefield;
My lips shall sing a nobler song—
The love that conquers wrong!

The Power that built the dome of space
And carved night's pillars, firm and sure,
The Love that formed this little face,
Hath shaped a purpose, radiant, pure.
O driving Force that will not rest,
That swings the suns and pearls the dew,
O Force that thrills my mother's breast,
Help me to live that purpose through!
Amid the tumult of the earth,
The shout of arms, the clash of steel,
The wail of brutal death and birth,
May he be strong to heal!

O little son, O little son,
What glorious conquests shall be won!
What huge compelling powers grope
And flower in thy mother's hope!
What yearnings of the Primal Cause
Shall plead earth's higher laws!
Thy tiny hands, like petals furled,
How they shall toil to bless the world;
What flame shall leap from thy small breast
To champion the opprest!

O Star that shone to lead mankind,
Help him the hidden path to find,
That he may speak Christ's word again
Of “Peace on Earth” to men!
He shall not fight for lust of might;
The sons of men he shall not slay;
His sword shall be a sword of light
To bring the larger day!