Poems (Trask)/Gleam of Peace
GLEAMS OF PEACE.
The June sky reaches down, pure, deeply blue;
The fields grow crimson in the clover glow;
A glimpse of heaven has almost broken through
The screening veil, to cheer us as we go;
And God, who has frowned on us, smiles again,
And turns to gladness all our weary woe.
The fields grow crimson in the clover glow;
A glimpse of heaven has almost broken through
The screening veil, to cheer us as we go;
And God, who has frowned on us, smiles again,
And turns to gladness all our weary woe.
Four years of blood! The way has been so sad!
The life-blood of our bravest and our best!
Many have yielded up all that they had
To save their country! loyal manifest!
Yielded them to the nobly deathless fame
That shall forever mark our soldiers' rest!
The life-blood of our bravest and our best!
Many have yielded up all that they had
To save their country! loyal manifest!
Yielded them to the nobly deathless fame
That shall forever mark our soldiers' rest!
To die for Country, Liberty, and Right!
A holy cause! I almost envy those
Who sleep in nameless graves, this summer night,
A sacrifice unto our country's foes!
No better death to die! no grander fate
To meet and conquer, all the wide world knows!
A holy cause! I almost envy those
Who sleep in nameless graves, this summer night,
A sacrifice unto our country's foes!
No better death to die! no grander fate
To meet and conquer, all the wide world knows!
We look for day! we think the night is o'er!
The south wind, sighing o'er the blooming hills,
Speaks to us gently thoughts unsaid before,
And in the solemn hush of twilight stills
We catch Divine suggestions of the peace
Which shall descend upon us when God wills.
The south wind, sighing o'er the blooming hills,
Speaks to us gently thoughts unsaid before,
And in the solemn hush of twilight stills
We catch Divine suggestions of the peace
Which shall descend upon us when God wills.
The war is ended! Do we think, and speak,
The words with all the grateful thrill they claim?
Have our hard lessons brought submission meek
Unto His will, whom all the angels name
With reverent voices, as we mention those
Whom holy martyrdom consigned to fame?
The words with all the grateful thrill they claim?
Have our hard lessons brought submission meek
Unto His will, whom all the angels name
With reverent voices, as we mention those
Whom holy martyrdom consigned to fame?
We weep for those we loved and yielded up;
There are deep graves in many bosoms here,
Sorrow's stern hand has pressed the bitter cup
To many a lip; but God is always near
To those who mourn; and He will not forget
To dry the weeping eye and anguished tear.
There are deep graves in many bosoms here,
Sorrow's stern hand has pressed the bitter cup
To many a lip; but God is always near
To those who mourn; and He will not forget
To dry the weeping eye and anguished tear.
At peace! My soul thrills at the welcome sound!
At peace once more! No battle-trump to blow!
No martial bugles o'er the hills resound—
No tramp of armed men—no crimson flow
Of life upon the hillsides' lush green grass;
At peace! and o'er us summer's golden glow!
At peace once more! No battle-trump to blow!
No martial bugles o'er the hills resound—
No tramp of armed men—no crimson flow
Of life upon the hillsides' lush green grass;
At peace! and o'er us summer's golden glow!
June, 1865.