Page:Poems Trask.djvu/151

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AT LAST.
141
God rest them well! and let the summer rain
Fall gently on the sod that o'er them grows!
Relieved from care, released from toil and pain,
They heed not summer's flowers or winter's snows.

Bought with a price! a price of precious blood!
This glorious peace that in the end is ours!
God sent His judgments in a fiery flood,—
His peace at last, her forehead crowned with flowers!




AT LAST.
The snows of winter fall around;
The Northern breezes blow;
The hearth is piled with blazing logs,
That fill the room with glow;
No more our thoughts go out afar
To dreary prison-cells,
No more the south winds seem to us
Like dismal funeral knells.

No more the printed page of death
Glares in our shrinking eyes;
No more we seem to hear, by night,
The dying's feeble cries.
Thank God for that! at last, at last,
The weary war is o'er!