 | Gods of war |  |
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26
VICTORIES.
Did any dream the Father of them allHad set apart for good and evil fate
The hosts who beat so redly at His gate,
Because they had answered to this trumpet call
Or that? Ah, no, the warriors who fall
Win the one battle, and they rise elate,
Seeking a mightier king and lordlier state,
Surging unto their great original.
The dreams men die for are all God-bequeathed.
Shall He not welcome those whose footsteps ran
Far beyond life in their proud following
Of kingly images, for there is breathed
Strangely in every dream and hope of man
Some story of the glory of that King.
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EMPIRE.
Say, for what foemen watch and ward you keep?From iron throats the ceaseless voices thrill,
The loud deliverers of imperial will.
Still must you dream although you may not sleep:
A dream, a dream assails you o'er the deep!
And some yet mightier dream alone may kill
The viewless foeman, and preserve you still
From that dim cavern of old Time, where creep
All dying dignities and dreamless powers.
The rod of empire is for those who hold
Man's wandering mind by some immortal lure.
Be rich in dream as in your ancient hours
And bribe the spirit with unearthly gold,
And this magnificence may yet endure.
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THE LITTLE GIRL WEEPING.
Oh, why are you not at your play?
Your eyes with weeping are blind,
Who a moment ago were as gay
As a daffodil tossed by the wind.
Your eyes with weeping are blind,
Who a moment ago were as gay
As a daffodil tossed by the wind.
“On the road was a river of men
All flashing along in the sun,
With cheering and cheering again,
And everyone carried a gun.
All flashing along in the sun,
With cheering and cheering again,
And everyone carried a gun.
“An old man was shaking his head
As the men in yellow passed by:
I asked where they went, and he said
‘Little maid, they are going to die.’
As the men in yellow passed by:
I asked where they went, and he said
‘Little maid, they are going to die.’
“On a faraway battle field where
The killing of men never ceased,
Where death was a blaze in the air
That tore like the claws of a beast,
The killing of men never ceased,
Where death was a blaze in the air
That tore like the claws of a beast,
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“Oh, why must they go there to die?
Could the kings not bid them to stay?
Would God take His stars from the sky
And trample them out in the clay?
Could the kings not bid them to stay?
Would God take His stars from the sky
And trample them out in the clay?
“The Earth is all cold and unlit
That seemed as kind as a mother,
And now it's a horrible pit
Where wild beasts tear at each other.”
That seemed as kind as a mother,
And now it's a horrible pit
Where wild beasts tear at each other.”
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