A WORD FOR PEACE.

Whence come your wars, frail worms of dust?
What are your fightings for?
Envy and hatred, greed and lust,

Which in your members war!

Dwells such a dark, unhallowed host
In temples of the Holy Ghost?

When angels first, to shepherds' ears,
Announced the Saviour's birth,

What watchword did the heavenly spheres
Pour down on listening earth?

Glory to God! who dwells on high;

Toward men-good will, and unity!

When Christ, on Calvary's blood-stained hill,

His life a ransom paid,

What peaceful love, triumphant still,

Prompted the prayer He prayed!

A prayer so tender, brief, and true ;—

'FORGIVE! they know not what they do!"

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A WORD FOR PEACE.

'Tis by its fruit the tree is known!

THE TEST OF TRUTH IS LOVE!

Have they, then, reverently shown
Theirs to their Lord above,

Who bid their fellow-creatures bleed,

And by their acts belie their creed?

Thank God! this gospel truth, no more
To one small sect confined,

From sea to sea, from shore to shore,
Shall flash on many a mind;

Till earth below, and heaven above,

Join in one hymn of PEACE and LOVE!

TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY,

1842.

LATELY known, but valued friend!

Many mingled feelings blend,

When, for thee, I fain would try

My old art of poesy.

Could I hail thy natal day
With its most appropriate lay,
Full of sunshine's cloudless glow
Should my votive tribute flow.

As my day drew near its night,
Like a vision of delight,

Shedding more than sunshine round,

Has thy presence oft been found.

G

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TO A FRIEND ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

If-of later days—a cloud

Hath that brightness seemed to shroud,
Through its soft and silvery haze
More than sunlight sheds its rays!

Health or sickness, time and place,
Alter many a form and face;
But no change can these impart
To a true and gentle heart.

This my friendship first inspired,
This preserves it still untired;
Well, or ill, or far, or near,

This must make thee ever dear.

For his sake-beloved by thee;
For thy guileless cherubs three;
For thine own-may grace Divine
Ever dwell with thee and thine! .

STANZAS,

SUGGESTED

BY A BEAUTIFUL COPY OF THE MADONNA AND CHILD,

PRESENTED TO ME BY MY FRIEND MARY FRANCES FITZGERALD.

I MAY not change the simple faith,

In which from childhood I was bred; Nor could I, without scorn, or scathe,

The living seek among the dead;

My soul has far too deeply fed

On what no painting can express,

To bend the knee, or bow the head,
To aught of pictured loveliness.

And yet, Madonna! when I gaze
On charms unearthly, such as thine;
Or glances yet more reverent raise

Unto that infant, so Divine!