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TEARS FOR WAR'S MISERIES.
Jesus from Olivet beheld Jerusalem outspread,
And paused amid the shouting crowd, and tears of pity shed;
For situation beautiful, the joy of the whole earth,
Its temple and its palaces awoke in him no mirth.
And paused amid the shouting crowd, and tears of pity shed;
For situation beautiful, the joy of the whole earth,
Its temple and its palaces awoke in him no mirth.
He saw its temple wrapt in flames, its palaces laid low,
Its children slain by fire and sword, its streets with blood o'erflow:
What though the Roman eagle yet in its far aerie slept,
He saw it swooping down in wrath,—and o'er the city wept.
Its children slain by fire and sword, its streets with blood o'erflow:
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He saw it swooping down in wrath,—and o'er the city wept.
Those tears to us are eloquent of that most tender Love
Which on our dreadful battle-fields now looks from heaven above:
They teach us what our Maker feels, when men by myriads die,
Though o'er the crimsoned earth is spread a smiling, azure sky.
Which on our dreadful battle-fields now looks from heaven above:
They teach us what our Maker feels, when men by myriads die,
Though o'er the crimsoned earth is spread a smiling, azure sky.
Those tears to us are eloquent how deeply we should mourn,
When thousands of our brethren lie by ball and bayonet torn;
When men in God's own image formed are smashed by shot and shell,
And earth for man made beautiful, by man is made a hell.
When thousands of our brethren lie by ball and bayonet torn;
When men in God's own image formed are smashed by shot and shell,
And earth for man made beautiful, by man is made a hell.
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Oh, weep we for that Widow lone o'erwhelmed by sudden woe—
The clinging Vine robbed of its elm by War's disastrous blow;
The cup of joy dashed from her lips, ne'er to be quaffed again;
Her Maker be her Husband now, for human help is vain.
The clinging Vine robbed of its elm by War's disastrous blow;
The cup of joy dashed from her lips, ne'er to be quaffed again;
Her Maker be her Husband now, for human help is vain.
Those orphan children claim our tears, launched on the waves of life,
No pilot wise to steer their course through rocks with danger rife:
That farewell kiss so bitter-sweet still lingers on their lips;
Alas! the light of their glad home is quenched in black eclipse.
No pilot wise to steer their course through rocks with danger rife:
That farewell kiss so bitter-sweet still lingers on their lips;
Alas! the light of their glad home is quenched in black eclipse.
Oh, pity we the cottagers flying from War's alarms,
Wandering in woods with aged folk, and wife, and babe in arms:
The reaper Death is in their fields, piling up heaps of slain,
Their vineyards yield strange fruit this year, and of a deeper stain.
Wandering in woods with aged folk, and wife, and babe in arms:
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Their vineyards yield strange fruit this year, and of a deeper stain.
Alas! for the brave officers and for their soldiers brave,
Who climb a hill of fire to find death and a nameless grave;
While shells are bursting o'er their heads and bullets round them shower,
Who can describe the wild despair of that appalling hour?
Who climb a hill of fire to find death and a nameless grave;
While shells are bursting o'er their heads and bullets round them shower,
Who can describe the wild despair of that appalling hour?
Oh, weep we for the wounded men struck down in the fierce fight,
Abandoned to their wretchedness through the long, chilling night;
Consumed with fever and with thirst, tortured with racking pain,
They call aloud for pity's hand, too oft, alas! in vain.
Abandoned to their wretchedness through the long, chilling night;
Consumed with fever and with thirst, tortured with racking pain,
They call aloud for pity's hand, too oft, alas! in vain.
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Oh, let us give them more than tears; not tears alone He gave,
Who paid a ransom-price in blood the perishing to save;
So let us turn our tears to gold to succour the distrest,
Our sighs to prayers that parting souls through Jesus may be blest.
Who paid a ransom-price in blood the perishing to save;
So let us turn our tears to gold to succour the distrest,
Our sighs to prayers that parting souls through Jesus may be blest.
Nor will the soldier's friend refuse a thought for the poor steed,
Which helps the soldier's victories and shares his direst need;
Which feels the suffering that he feels without the hope he knows:
Alas! that War should thus drag down dumb creatures in its woes!
Which helps the soldier's victories and shares his direst need;
Which feels the suffering that he feels without the hope he knows:
Alas! that War should thus drag down dumb creatures in its woes!
'Tis night—the moon is rising pale—and War has hushed his din;
You see him in his nakedness, and shudder at the sin:
Thick lie the dead; and dying men groan out their latest breath,
While friends with foes are now made one in agony and death.
You see him in his nakedness, and shudder at the sin:
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While friends with foes are now made one in agony and death.
O sight to make the angels weep, and cloud the Saviour's brow—
The same to-day as yesterday, on Olivet as now—
Can these destroyers Christians be, named with that gracious Name,
Who roar their hate from cannon's mouth and breathe devouring flame?
The same to-day as yesterday, on Olivet as now—
Can these destroyers Christians be, named with that gracious Name,
Who roar their hate from cannon's mouth and breathe devouring flame?
Is Love the law which binds men still before their Maker's sight?
Is hatred in one Christian wrong, but in a Nation right?
Is murder of one human being accounted heinous guilt,
And is it glory if the blood of multitudes is spilt?
Is hatred in one Christian wrong, but in a Nation right?
Is murder of one human being accounted heinous guilt,
And is it glory if the blood of multitudes is spilt?
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If Nations differ must they needs plunge into deadly hate?
May not kind Counsel intervene, and Wisdom arbitrate?
Have we no worthier arguments than powder, shell, and shot?
Is Reason dead, and must the sword still cut the Gordian knot?
May not kind Counsel intervene, and Wisdom arbitrate?
Have we no worthier arguments than powder, shell, and shot?
Is Reason dead, and must the sword still cut the Gordian knot?
“Glory to God and peace on earth!” was once the angels' strain;
Oh, may the cry of “Glorious War” be never heard again:
Come, Thou Desire of nations, come; return, O Prince of peace,
Put forth Thy mighty power and reign; bid war and bloodshed cease!
Oh, may the cry of “Glorious War” be never heard again:
Come, Thou Desire of nations, come; return, O Prince of peace,
Put forth Thy mighty power and reign; bid war and bloodshed cease!
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Note. —An “English M.P.,” who was present at the battle of Sedan, ministering to the wounded and dying, thus writes to the Times: “How grateful they were! How polite in the midst of all his sufferings one poor French soldier! And most touching of all, how kindly helpful the poor fellows were to one another, French and German alike! ‘But, monsieur,’ asked one poor Frenchman, ‘are the Prussians Christians?’ ‘Certainly,’ said I. I knew he was thinking of those heathen Turcos of his. ‘Then,’ said my poor friend, breathing heavily (he was badly wounded in the chest), ‘why do we kill one another?’”
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