No maddening thirst of blood had they.
⁠No battle-joy was theirs who set
⁠Against the alien bayonet
Their homespun breasts in that old day.

Their feet had trodden peaceful ways,
⁠They loved not strife, they dreaded pain,
⁠They saw not, what to us is plain,
That God would make man's wrath his praise.

No seers were they, but simple men:
⁠Its vast results' the future hid;
⁠The meaning of the work they did
Was strange and dark and doubtful then.

Swift as the summons came they left
⁠The plough mid-furrow standing still,
⁠The half-ground corn-grist in the mill,
The spade in earth, the axe in cleft.

They went where duty seemed to call;
⁠They scarcely asked the reason why:
⁠They only knew they could but die,
And death was not the worst of all.

Of man for man the sacrifice.
⁠Unstained by blood, save theirs, they gave.
⁠The flowers that blossomed from their grave
Have sown, themselves beneath all skies.

Their death-shot shook the feudal tower,
⁠And shattered slavery's chain as well:
⁠On the sky's dome, as on a bell,
Its echo struck the world's great hour.

That fatal echo is not dumb:
⁠The nations, listening to its sound,
⁠"Wait, from a century's vantage-ground,
The holier triumphs yet to come, —

The bridal-time of Law and Love,
⁠The gladness of the world's release,
⁠"When, war-sick, at the feet of Peace
The hawk shall nestle with the dove, —

The golden age of brotherhood,
⁠Unknown to other rivalries
⁠Than of the mild humanities,
And gracious interchange of good.

When closer strand shall lean to strand,
⁠Till meet, beneath saluting flags,
⁠The eagle of our mountain-crags,
The lion of our mother-land.

'Mongst roses in the sunset glow,
Ere the white arum's cup of snow
⁠Had closed.
Grandmother sat, content to see
The beauty round her; or maybe
⁠She calmly dozed.

She, with grandchildren round her path,
Finding in life sweet aftermath,
⁠Grew young;
Old voices surged upon the breeze,
That over days remote from these
⁠A spell had hung.

Whilst golden sunbeams danced in space.
Calling up many a sunny place
⁠Of old;
Or here and there a cloudy blot.
That blurred the skies, of darkened spot
⁠In memory told.

Yet dark and light so blent that they
Made picture fair of summer day;
⁠Nor woke
The shadows aught that grief might bring,
For Time smoothed o'er with gentle wing
⁠Each harsher stroke.

The past's wild sobs were hushed, for age
Clear read God's writing on the page
⁠Once dim;
And earth's declining days waxed pale
In the light shining through the veil
⁠That hides from Him.

In a fair border-land she seems;
Behind, before, a world of dreams
⁠All peace;
And doubts that had perplexed her youth
Had settled into simple truth
⁠And fear's surcease.

Maude waiting wonders. In her eyes
To age a time of darkened skies
⁠Is given.
Strained silver cord, and hushed life-song -
"Ay, Maude, but chant of angel-throng
⁠Is nigh — in heaven."

Where the wood-paths broke in twain,
Doubting, Dolly checked her rein.
"If I take that path," mused she,
"I shall meet with somebody.
Nay, but that would never do;
Maidens should be wooed, not woo!"
So the other path she prest,
Saying, "Second thoughts are best."

Who is that with Dolly there?
What has made her ride so fair?
"Somebody," most strange to say.
Rode the self-same way to-day;
And there, among the greenwoods dim,
Dolly told her choice to him,
Whispering what her heart confest —
"Truly, second thoughts were best."