The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1888-05-30
War;.

Scourge of the nations. and the bane
or freedom. hope and life!
Stern reveller in CORY fields,
EXulting In the strife!
Thou terror OF ten thousand homes,
Thou sword-plague OF the world!
When shall we see thy balefres quenched,
Thy blood-stained banners furled?
Ambition. born and power-begot,
With passions dark and vile"
And fostered by the cruel arts
or avarice and guile,
Thou goest forth with reckless hosts
TO slaughter and enslave,
Thou trampled upon human hearts,
Thou sorger of the grave!
Thy or.flamme floats wantonly
In the pure, unconscious air;
The chorus OF thy drums give out
The warning note, "prepare:"
Thy cympals ring. thy trumpets sing
With shrIll and vauntlng breath;
Alasl that such vain pageantry
Should grace the feast Of death!
Growing in peaceful splendor stands
Some proud and prosperous town,
Till thy dread footsteps pass her gates,
And tread her glories down;
While panic sweeps her wildering streets,
And all thy hounds OF prey
Make riot in her homes, and leave
Dishonor and dismay.
A province withers at thy frown,
A kingdom mourns 10 see
Her desecrated temples torn,
Her towers oerthrown by thee;
Bewails her commerce paralysed'
Her fields unploughed and wild,
And all her household sanctities
Invaded and defiled.
And yet the land that sends thee forth;
What land soe'er 1t be,
Leaps at thy lawless victories,
And lifts the voice Of glee;
And songs are sung, and bells are rung.
And merry bon-fires blaze,
While false and foolish pens distill
The poison of their praise.
And at the crowded banquet board
Quick tongues difuse thy fame,
And columns lift proud capitals
In honor OF thy name.
And yirgins,,pure and beautiful,
Give their fond hearts away
To men who trod out human life,
In the carnage yesterday.
Ay, strip thee Of thy dainty garb,
Thy tinsel robe Of pride,
Lay glistening helm and Haunting plume,
And specious names aside,-
And what remains of that gay thing
That dazZled us before?
A monster hideous to behold,
An idol smeared with gore!
The widows curse is on thee, War;
The orphans suppliant cries,
Mixed with the mothers Madison,
Ascend the placid skies;
And bones that bleach upon the shore
And welter in the sea,
Appeal.-and shall 1t be in vain p
Against thy deeds and thee.
The green earth fain would fling thee off
From her polluted breast;
The multitudes are yearning, too,
For knowledge and for rest;
And lips, inspired by Christian love,
All deprecate thy wrongs,
And poets, fired with purer themes,
Disdain thee In their songs.
"The embattled corn" is loveIier far
Than thy embattled hordes,
One plow In Labour's honest hand
Is worth ten thousand swords;
The engines steam pulse. fifty piled,
Hath nobler conquests made
Than all the congregated Serfs
or thy abhorrent trade.
More courage in the miners heart
Than captain ever knew;
More promise in the PEASANTS frock
Than coats or scarlet hue;
More honor in the craftman's cap,
And In the students gown;
More glory In the pastors robe
Than all thy vain renown.
England, my own, my mother land,
AS fair rs thou art free!
Thou island queen, whose wide domains
" lduu auu ocus
What need that thou shouldst yearn again
To conquer and subdue?
Thy power has long been known 10 all,
Shall not thy mercy, too?
Forbear to US the cruel sword,
Or, If thou wilt invade,
Be It with palm or olive branch,
That maketh none afraid;
Be 1t with Bible in thy hand
And justice In thy breast.
Give peaceful arts; give gospel light;
Give rectitude and rest.