339
O That This Weary War of Life!
O that this weary war of life
With me were o'er,
Its eager cry of wo and strife
Heard never more!
I've fronted the red battle field
Mine own dark day;
I fain would fling the helmet, shield,
And sword away.
I strive not now for victory—
That wish hath fled;
My prayer is now to numbered be
Among the dead—
All that I loved, alas!—alas!
Hath perished!
They tell me 'tis a glorious thing,
This wearing war;
They tell me joy crowns suffering
And bosom scar.
Such speech might never pass the lips
That could unfold
