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Joy rose within her, like a summer's morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.
IV.
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That Strife should vanish. Battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music's loudest note, the Poet's story,
Did'st thou ne'er love to hear of Fame and Glory?
V.
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth's majestic monarch's hail
Their Friend, their Playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh.
VI.
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And therefore is my Soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defil'd,
That from the aged Father tears his Child!"
