This page has been validated.
WAR
Once, long ago, in ages gone,
When man seemed as the brute,
I looked with dread to wisdom's dawn,
And virtue's ripening fruit:
Now sages wreathe my brow with bays,
And poets chant my praise.
And once, in little Bethlehem—
Once only, not again—
Peace wore a royal diadem:
But I could trust to men,
And crucified upon a tree,
Peace is a memory!
109
