Крисчен Милн (Christian Milne)

To Peace

PEACE! with thy placid mien,
Who'st long a stranger been
To Freedom's sons on Britain's rocky shore--
O come! and with thee bring
Sweet comfort 'neath thy wing,
To sorrowing hearts, which fallen friends deplore!
Pray mankind's Heavenly FRIEND ,
On whom thou dost attend,
To send thee here! pacific, smiling maid!
Bid War's discordant voice
Be still; and all rejoice,
From harm secure, and none to make afraid.
Say to the KING of Heaven--
'Be erring man forgiven!
'In mercy lay the scourging rod aside,
'Which, from thy avenging hand,
'Stretch'd out on Gallia's land,
'Usurping reigns, big-swell'd with pomp and pride!'
Britannia, sorrowing, mourns,
And bathes with tears the urns
Of her brave sons, whom death alone could quell!
Whose valour was her boast--
And Fame, from coast to coast,
Has spread their praise with loud resounding shell!
See sires and mothers weep,
And drooping virgins steep
Their cheeks, late blooming, in pale sorrow's tear!
The widow's earthly prop,
The darling of her hope,
See! horrid War has laid upon the bier!
Then come! angelic Peace!
Let war and carnage cease;
Then shall the sword the verdant glebe up tear;
The spear we then shall use
To prune luxuriant boughs;
War's horrid din no more shall grate the ear. 

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