TO THE WAR REALISTS.
The rumbling guns grow silent in the past,
The clouds of war float down behind the hills,
The unnatural radiance that overcast
The battle moments no more awes and thrills.
Say what we will, for him who gives his life
To war, conscious of an ideal, there flames
A glory in the sky; the sorriest strife
Is hallowed by devotion and great aims.
Though glamour there be none, his soul is blunt
Who feels not where the battle-work is grim
A cloud of witnesses, a tidal wave
Of earth's best passion brim along the front,
Weighing upon him and exalting him,
Leaving the world at ebb to make him brave.
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