Strove to engulf the voice of faith
In the, shrieks of their despair.

There was wailing in the houses,

There was trembling on the marts, While the tempest raged and thundered, Mid the silent thrill of hearts;

But the Lord, our shield, was with us,
And ere a month had sped,
Our very women walked the streets
With scarce one throb of dread.

And the little children gambolled,
Their faces purely raised,
Just for a wondering moment,

As the huge bombs whirled and blazed; Then turned with silvery laughter

To the sports which children love, Thrice-mailed in the sweet, instinctive thought

That the good God watched above.

Yet the hailing bolts fell faster,
From scores of flame-clad ships,
And about us, denser, darker,
Grew the conflict's wild eclipse,
Till a solid cloud closed o'er us,
Like a type of doom and ire,
Whence shot a thousand quivering tongues
Of forked and vengeful fire.

But the unseen hands of angels

Those death-shafts warned aside,
And the dove of heavenly mercy
Ruled o'er the battle tide;
In the houses ceased the wailing,

And through the war-scarred marts
The people strode, with step of hope,
To the music in their hearts.

BETWEEN THE SUNKEN SUN AND THE NEW MOON

BETWEEN the sunken sun and the new moon,

I stood in fields through which a rivulet

ran

With scarce perceptible motion, not a span
Of its smooth surface trembling to the tune
Of sunset breezes: "O delicious boon,"
I cried, "of quiet! wise is Nature's plan,
Who, in her realm, as in the soul of man,
Alternates storm with calm, and the loud

noon