 | The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes |  |
WEARY
FEBRUARY 17, 1864
Peace! Shall we ever hear that blissful sound
And see the raging steeds of War unbound?
Our streams run blood, our fields are crimson mire,
Smoke hides the sun, the night is red with fire,—
How long, O Lord, how long?
And see the raging steeds of War unbound?
Our streams run blood, our fields are crimson mire,
Smoke hides the sun, the night is red with fire,—
How long, O Lord, how long?
As one that sleeping moans but knows not why
Till at the last he wakes with sudden cry—
I, slumbering, woke to hear a Nation's prayer
Piercing the death-chilled, sorrow-laden air
How long, O Lord, how long?
Till at the last he wakes with sudden cry—
I, slumbering, woke to hear a Nation's prayer
Piercing the death-chilled, sorrow-laden air
How long, O Lord, how long?
Patience! the fire must burn the root of shame;
The tears of anguished souls must quench the flame.
God led his people to the promised shore
Through the long desert—we will ask no more
How long, O Lord, how long?
The tears of anguished souls must quench the flame.
God led his people to the promised shore
Through the long desert—we will ask no more
How long, O Lord, how long?
| The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes | |