Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1863-08-19
BY JOHN C. WHITTIER.

Once more. dear friends, You meet beneath
A elouded sky:
Not yet the sword has found its sheath.
And, on the sweet spring airs, the breath
Of war floats by.
Yet trouble springs not from the ground.
Nor pain from chance;
Th' Eternal order circles round,
Aud wave and storm find mete and bound
Ia Providence.
Full long our feet the iowery ways
OF peace have trOd,
Content with creed and garb and phrase:
A harder path IN earlier days
Led uP 10 God
Too eh apply truths. once purchased dear.
Are made our own;
Too long the orld has smiled to hear
Our boasts of full corn il the ear
by others sown;
To see US Sur the martyr fires
Of long ago;
And wrap our satisfied desires
In the singed mantles that our sireS
Have dropped below.
But now the cross our WORTHLESS bore
On us is laid.
Professions quiet sleep is O'er,
And in the scale of truth once more
Our faith is weighed.
The cry of innocent blood at last
Is calling down
An answer in the whirlwind- blast,
The thunder and the shadow cast
From Heavens dark irown.
The land is red with judgments Who
Stands guiltleSs fOrth2
Have tre been faithful as we knew.
To God and 10 our brother true,
To Heaven and Earthg
How faints through din of merchandise
And count of gain,
Has seemed TO US the captives cries
How far away the tears and sighs
Of souls in paint
This day the fearful reckoning comes
To each ana all:
We hear amidst our peaceful homes,
The summons Of the conscrIpt drums,
The bugle's call
Our path is plain, the war-net draws
While. faithful to the Higher Cause.
We keep our fealty TO the laws.
Through patient pain ..
The leveled gun, the battle brand,
We may not take:
But, calmly loyal, we can stand
And suffer with our suffering land,
For conscience sake
Why ask for ease where all is pain?
Shall lce alone ....
Be left TO add our gain TO gain.
When over Armageddon's plain
The trump Is blown?
To suffer well Is well TO serve:
Safe in our Lord,
The rigid lines OF law shall curve
To spare us; from our heads shall swerye
Its shifting sword.
And light is mingled with the gloom.
And joy with grief;
Divinest cOmpensatiOns come;
Through thOrns Of Judgment mereies bloom
In sweet relief.
Thanks for our privilege to bless,
By word and deed,
The widow in her keen distress,
The childless and the fatherless,
The hearts that bleed!
For fields of duty, opening wide.
Where all our powers
Are tasked the eager steps to guide
or millions on path uptried;
The SLAVE IS ouRs
Ours by traditions dear and old.
Which make the race .... .a
Our wards, TO cherish and uphold, d T.
Aud east their freedom in the mould
Of Christian grace. ... .....
And we may tread the sick-bed floors
Where strong men pine,
And, down the groanlng corridors.
Pour freely from our liberal stores
The oil and wine.
Who murmurs that in these dark days
His lot is cast
Gods hand within the shadow lays
The stones whereon His gates of praise
Shall rise at last.
Turn and O'erturn, o outstretched Hand !
Nor stint, nor stay
The years have never dropped their sand
On mortal issue vast and grand
As ours to-day.
Already, on the sable ground
OF mans despair, .-..
Is freedom glorious picture found
With all its dusky hands unbound,
Upraised in prayer.
Oh, small win seem all sacrifice,
And pain and loss,
When God shall wipe the weeping eyes.
For suffering give the victor's prize
The crown for eros! /!