What if, that day, when on those tawny slopes,
Made as by Mars for battle, but till then
Still happily unhistoric, steeped in peace,
Two foes, of age-long enmity, drew near —
(Foes of torn forest and of trampled field,
Not in the smart apparel of parade
But long bedraggled with the toil of war,
Will matched with will, courage to courage set,
In tremulous expectancy of fate,
Each with the hopes of millions in reserve;) —

What if, while strong men nearer to their hearts
Pressed their worn amulets: a wisp of hair;
A woman's tear-stained letters; some small toy;
The penciled tracing of a baby's hand;
Likeness of child by father never seen,
To whom that father was to be a myth
Told by a lonely fireside through the years; —
What if, at that weak moment of the brave,
Before the sign of serried death was given,
The Angel of the Future, in a white dream
Of morning mist that blotted out the scene,
Had swept in solemn beauty down the lines,
Trailing a scroll of visioned prophecy,
Till all had seen that field with second sight,
And all had heard her words:

" O warriors, stay!
Unshotted be the cannon, sheathed the sword.
Look on this picture, half a century hence,
When ye, the tottering remnants who shall live
To mourn the comrades who to-day shall die,
Shall be again the brothers ye are now
But seem not now to be. Look close!
Who are those old who mimic the assault
Ye face to-day, crossing this very ground
To meet not Death but Love? See, clasped in peace,
Not clenched, your hands. Those heads of gray are yours.
Time has outwept the colors of your flags,
The strife forgiven, all the hate forgot.
Sires of the not-yet-orphaned, will ve die? "
With such a vision slowly fading back
From dream to dread, from dread to dream again,
Could one have given the awful word of death,
Or human hearts obeyed it?

Yes, ah yes!
In all great enterprises of the soul
The immediate duty is the strongest lure.
Not lightly did these follow the red trail,
Not for adventure, nor for murderous sport,
Nor glory, oft more sordid than grosser gain;
But for the stark necessity of Man
To heed his conscience trumpet, lest he die
And live on, dead! So, that the God within,
Who haunts our coward days, might be appeased,
With war's momentum in their heated veins,
And with a Hebrew prophet's certainty,
Each called on Heaven for justice, and rushed on!