Now, while the thunder peal of battle is heard,
Earth with the tramping of legions is stirred,
Turn from the battle, Brothers, take from above,
Words OF Peace AND L OVE !

Hearts of consolation, bide ye the vow!
Hands, never weary in charity now!
Tongues rich in sympathy, oh, take from above
Words OF Peace AND L OVE !

Blood like a river flowing, smokes o'er the plain;
Tears, bitter weeping,—oh, who can retrain!
Stay, stay the slaughter, Brothers, stay this distress,
Speak the Words OF Peace !

Flaunting our Banners on the breeze,
Flashing the mystic steel above.
The Knights of Golgotha are these,
And linked in holy links of love.

Stained with the dust of many a clime,
Weary and travel-worn we are,
But see how gleams the Cross sublime!
In C HRIST we make the Holy War.

Ah, who can speak our warrior bliss,
Bound in a blood-cemented chain!
Our life has had no scene like this,
And few will see the like again.

Hands, in a mighty union grasp, —
Voice, take the courteous Knightly tone, —

Star of my Love! upon the deep
Struggling through Night's dim misty veil
Whilst low winds o'er the waters creep
Still heaving from the by-gone gale,
And solitary sea-birds wail —
Though all below are sunk in sleep —
Beneath the lazy flapping sail,
My lonely midnight watch I keep,
Thy holy light once more to hail
Star of my Love!

Star of my Love! too well! — too well! —

What is the sweetest?
The Baby's mouth,
With its pure, soft breathing coming and going,
Like perfume of winds from the sunny South,
Over the orange and lime-trees blowing.
Dimples hid in the curving tips,
Rose-leaf bloom on the gracious lips,
Tremulous smiling,
Soul beguiling,
This is the sweetest.

What is the brightest?
The Baby's eyes,
A heaven of gladness within them sleeping;
Questioning light that comes and flies,
Moving our hearts to smiles and weeping,
Trust and hope and divinest love,

LOVE AND DEATH

Earth hath two gifts all other gifts above,
And both are born within a passing breath,
Yet last throughout all time — the one is Love,
The other — Death.

TO-MORROW

" To-morrow I give to Love, and the Lord;
But to-day is Fame's, " he said,
And the morning shone on a broken sword,
And a mail-clad warrior, dead.

Farewell! my more than father land,
Home of my heart and friends adieu!
Lingering beside some foreign strand
How oft shall I remember you:
How often o'er the waters blue
Send back a sigh to those I leave,
The loving and beloved few
Who grieve for me — for whom I grieve.

We part! — no matter how we part —
There are some thoughts we utter not,
Deep treasured in our inmost hearts
Never revealed and ne'er forgot —
Why murmur at the common lot?
We part! — I speak not of the pain
But when shall I each lovely spot

Save that there may be one love-garnering breast
Will hold us unforgotten when we die,
From all the paths that most familiar lie
We shall be missed but few brief days at best.
Noteless as noiseless pass we to our rest;
Slip from the ear and tongue as from the eye.
Earth knows no break, no change to signify
Absence or loss; and Time and Nature, lest
In our behalf remonstrant they appear,
Make stealthy haste to blur and cover o'er
The stone's laborious lettering before
The yielding mound that settles year by year

You that unto your Mistresse eyes
Your hearts do sacrifice,
And offer sighs or tears at Loves rich shrine,
Renounce with me
Th'Idolatrie,
Nor this Infernal Power esteem divine.

The Brand, the Quiver, and the Bow,
Which we did first bestow,
And he as tribute wears from every Lover,
I back again
From him have ta'ne,
And the Impostor now unvail'd discover.

I can the feeble Child disarm,
Unty his mystick charm,
Devest him of his Wings, and break his Arrow;
We will obey
No more his sway,

Fair friend, 'tis true, your beauties move
My heart to a respect:
Too little to be paid with love,
Too great for your neglect.

I neither love, nor yet am free,
For though the flame I find
Be not intense in the degree,
'Tis on the purest kind.

It little wants of love, but pain,
Your beauty takes my sense,
And lest you should that price disdain,
My thoughts, too, feel the influence.

'Tis not a passion's first access
Ready to multiply,
But like love's calmest state it is
Possessed with victory.