Poems (Curwen)/Peace
For works with similar titles, see Peace.
Peace.
LINES WRITTEN ON THE TSAR'S PROPOSED DISARMAMENT.
Peace, universal peace, how fair the dream!
If but the Powers might entertain the scheme.
What visions rise before this thought sublime,
The Angel Peace reigning in every clime;
The flag of truce in every land unfurled,
Waving its peaceful message to the world.
No clang of arms, no warfare with its fell
Harvest of horrors reaped from shot and shell;
But swords to ploughshares turned, and hate to love,
The Eagle mating with the gentle dove.
Man's highest aim the universal good,
Hand clasping hand in peaceful brotherhood;
Nation to nation linked in friendship's chain,
All hatred, jealousy, and discord slain;
As shadows flee before the dawning light,
As though the finger of the Infinite
Pressed on the world's great fevered pulse, has stayed
Its restless beat—its fever fires allayed;
And, hushed by the soft voice of gentle Peace,
Its wild delirious wanderings cease.
Soothed by the sweetness of her charming songs,
Entranced, the world forgets its grief and wrongs—
Forgets the wounds which ache and rankle still;
And, clasping close the hand of sweet Goodwill,
Joins her in singing the triumphant paean
Which heralds in the great millennium reign.
·····
O, that the Powers might entertain the scheme,
That we might realize the Tsar's fair dream!
If but the Powers might entertain the scheme.
What visions rise before this thought sublime,
The Angel Peace reigning in every clime;
The flag of truce in every land unfurled,
Waving its peaceful message to the world.
No clang of arms, no warfare with its fell
Harvest of horrors reaped from shot and shell;
But swords to ploughshares turned, and hate to love,
The Eagle mating with the gentle dove.
Man's highest aim the universal good,
Hand clasping hand in peaceful brotherhood;
Nation to nation linked in friendship's chain,
All hatred, jealousy, and discord slain;
As shadows flee before the dawning light,
As though the finger of the Infinite
Pressed on the world's great fevered pulse, has stayed
Its restless beat—its fever fires allayed;
And, hushed by the soft voice of gentle Peace,
Its wild delirious wanderings cease.
Soothed by the sweetness of her charming songs,
Entranced, the world forgets its grief and wrongs—
Forgets the wounds which ache and rankle still;
And, clasping close the hand of sweet Goodwill,
Joins her in singing the triumphant paean
Which heralds in the great millennium reign.
·····
O, that the Powers might entertain the scheme,
That we might realize the Tsar's fair dream!