XV. PEACE.
114 lines✦
England, how hast thou forgot,In dullard care for undisturb'd increaseOf gold, which profits not,The gain which once thou knew'st was for thy peace!Honour is peace, the peace which does accordAlone with God's glad word:'My peace I send you, and I send a sword.'O England, how hast thou forgot,How fear'st the things which make for joy, not fear,Confronted near.Hard days? 'Tis what the pamper'd seek to buyWith their most willing gold in weary lands.Loss and pain risk'd? What sport but understandsThese for incitements! Suddenly to die,With conscience a blurr'd scroll?The sunshine dreaming upon Salmon's heightIs not so sweet and whiteAs the most heretofore sin-spotted soulThat darts to its delightStraight from the absolution of a faithful fight.Myriads of homes unloosen'd of home's bond,And fill'd with helpless babes and harmless women fond?Let those whose pleasant chanceTook them, like me, among the German towns,After the war that pluck'd the fangs from France,With me pronounceWhether the frequent black, which then array'dChild, wife, and maid,Did most to magnify the sombreness of grief,Or add the beauty of a staid reliefAnd freshening foilTo cheerful-hearted Honour's ready smile!Beneath the heroic sunIs there then noneWhose sinewy wings by choice do flyIn the fine mountain-air of public obloquy,To tell the sleepy mongers of false easeThat war's the ordained way of all alive,And therein with goodwill to dare and thriveIs profit and heart's peace?But in his heart the fool now saith:'The thoughts of Heaven were past all finding out,Indeed, if it should rainIntolerable woes upon our Land again,After so long a drought!''Will a kind Providence our vessel whelm,With such a pious Pilot at the helm?''Or let the throats be cut of pretty sheepThat care for nought but pasture rich and deep?''Were 't Evangelical of God to deal so foul a blowAt people who hate Turks and Papists so?''What, make or keepA tax for ship and gun,When 'tis full three to oneYon bully but intendsTo beat our friends?''Let's put asideOur costly pride.Our appetite's not goneBecause we've learn'd to doffOur caps, where we were used to keep them on.''If times get worse,We've money in our purse,And Patriots that know how, let who will scoff,To buy our perils off.Yea, blessed in our midstArt thou who lately didst,So cheap,The old bargain of the Saxon with the Dane.' {35}Thus in his heart the fool now saith;And, lo, our trusted leaders trust fool's luck,Which, like the whale's 'mazed chine,When they thereon were mulling of their wine,Will some day duck.Remnant of Honour, brooding in the darkOver your bitter cark,Staring, as Rispah stared, astonied seven days,Upon the corpses of so many sons,Who loved her once,Dead in the dim and lion-haunted ways,Who could have dreamtThat times should come like these!Prophets, indeed, taught lies when we were young,And people loved to have it so;For they teach well who teach their scholars' tongue!But that the foolish both should gaze,With feeble, fascinated face,Upon the wan crest of the coming woe,The billow of earthquake underneath the seas,And sit at ease,Or stand agape,Without so much as stepping back to 'scape,Mumbling, 'Perchance we perish if we stay:'Tis certain wear of shoes to stir away!'Who could have dreamtThat times should come like these!Remnant of Honour, tongue-tied with contempt,Consider; you are strong yet, if you please.A hundred just men up, and arm'd but with a frown,May hoot a hundred thousand false loons down,Or drive them any way like geese.But to sit silent now is to subornThe common villainy you scorn.In the dark hourWhen phrases are in power,And nought's to choose betweenThe thing which is not and which is not seen,One fool, with lusty lungs,Does what a hundred wise, who hate and hold their tongues,Shall ne'er undo.In such an hour,When eager hands are fetter'd and too few,And hearts alone have leave to bleed,Speak; for a good word then is a good deed.
✦