Page:Poems Trask.djvu/149

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 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?

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.

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!

June, 1865.