The record-union., 1895-12-28
(For the Record-Union.)
THE SORROWS OF WAR.

The SORRONS OE WAX.
Dare not to deem them cowardly who
pause,
Upon the narrow threshold of the strife,
To count against the justice OF their cause,
The dread and certain penalty OF life.
To hear the lords of conflict cry their
power,
To bark the wild entreaty of the hour
Is but to own unsoYereignty of sense.
For impulse ever mimics reasons speech.
And wears the smooth DISBURSEMENT OF
its form;
And haply, may befool ye till ye reach
The sad and wreck-strewn pathway Of
the storm!
A-down the misty past they trooping
Misguided fools-the hot. impetuous
The knights of Greece. the pallid hosts of
Rome
The last reward of folly is the gravel
Brave sons of France who fell at Water
loo,
And wars brave children of the bravest
West
Are these real tears, or is it but the dew
That shines above their graves un-
laureled crest?
The pride of nations and their bursting
Conceit Of statesmen and deceit of
knaves,
Have fashioned peace to bear thousand
And blinded reason to the wage of
graves.
Say, "Blest is peace!" and every lip is
Save of the one who sounds the curious
cry;
Shout, "Cheer for war!" and to that fierce
The very hills will struggle to reply!
A flashing sword darts sparkle to our. eyes,
A bugle stirs US, and the flags unfurled
EXalt our souls-then who would think OF
signs,
Or of a smoke-enshrouded, weeping
world?
Yet think 1 ask submittance to a yoke?
The blood of noble patriots course my
veins
John Stark, who bravely fought and
braVely spoke,
And Green, whose sword defended well
our plains!
Tis but because I look beyond the guns,
Beyond the binding glare of this small
hour;
To count the living tears for dying sons
And set them 'gainst the bubbles of our
power!
How weak will seem the causes, and how
And empty be the victory and its boast,
When with our dead around we pause to
add,
The long and solemn columns of the
coSti
For wars its bitter sorrows and it's pain,
And victory oft is but in name alone;
For petty SpoilS are won by noble Slain
And every cheer is echoed by a moan!
When death shall cast his shadow on your
floor,
And pain become familiar to your eye,
When sorrow, like a peddler, shall out
pour
The contents of its pack and force ye
buy.
All, poor will seem the laurels that ye take
And worthless all the prestage that ye
win,
When counted 'gainst your hearts in
creasing ache,
And scared against your PASSIONS scar
ring SIM
Yet peace is ever prone to make excuse
For insults heaped upon her and for
wrongs,
And as her noble arms rust in disuse,
Allow. the tyrant bind thee with his
thongs.
And war at little prickings of his pride,
Would burst State, embroil conti-
And throwing sense and reason flying
VIDE,
Toss worlds in deadly conflict o'er a
cent?
So neither peace nor war must have the
rule,
And only ripest reason must prevail
For every man that lives was born a fool,
And every FOOLS perception is a snail.
If stainless be the colorS that ye wear,
"Tis we'll to guard their purity, yet wise
To prove your cause before your arms ye
bear,
Beyond the fatal shadow of surmise.
But if your cause is just, and justly
proved,
If naught but war is left ye for appeal,
Then love your land, as brave Bozzaris
loved
And prove your love, as he did, with your
STEEL
-ELWYN IRVING HOFFMAN.
Stockton, December, 1895.