SOLDIER of Peaceful War!
Forgive us if our doubt shall mar
Thy victory, that has neither blot nor scar:
'T is for the moment, when the Muse's gaze
Wanders from thee. Our country is so dear
Her lovers may indulge a lover's fear.
Forgive us, too, a final word of praise:
That in these troublous days
Thy hand has written for the world to learn
A symphony of Labor, where we may discern
Life as a grander music than before.
Up to the heights that hide the sun
We hear the chorded tumult soar,
The cheer of morning ardor well begun —
A hundred instruments that blend as one:
The dominant whistle and the whirring wheel;
The ringing peal
Of falling steel on steel;
The rhythmic hammer and the trilling chain,
With intervals as palpable as pain;
The pulsing engine, the insistent drill,
Treble of steam and bass of roaring train,
With Echo making fugue from hill to hill.
O loyal orchestra by great composer led!
Thy touch on every string and key
Has wrought this noble minstrelsy,
Giving a soul to brass and wood mert or dead,
Till all confusions were in beauty wed,
And in the players and the theme
One harmony arose supreme —
Ungrudging service sounding like a psalm.
For this the palm!
Soldier of Peace, well done!