 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
2
The New Year, 1900
She comes with nigh an hundred years of fate
Cast o'er her shoulders, on her brow the star
Of Hope, but in her ears the sound of war,
And in her eyes deep sorrow for man's hate.
She comes to cast down all that was too great,
To lift up those that humble-hearted are;
For lo! she holds commission from afar,
And doth obey one only Potentate.
Cast o'er her shoulders, on her brow the star
Of Hope, but in her ears the sound of war,
And in her eyes deep sorrow for man's hate.
She comes to cast down all that was too great,
To lift up those that humble-hearted are;
For lo! she holds commission from afar,
And doth obey one only Potentate.
Weary of blood and battle-woe, she bears
Within her hand the olive bough of peace,
She points to One who brought the name from Heaven
Of Counsellor—and speaks to willing ears,
Saying, His Government must needs increase
Till back to hell the fiends of war are driven.
Within her hand the olive bough of peace,
She points to One who brought the name from Heaven
Of Counsellor—and speaks to willing ears,
Saying, His Government must needs increase
Till back to hell the fiends of war are driven.
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |