For works with similar titles, see Peace.


PEACE.


History hath set her crown
    Upon the Conqueror's head,
And bade the awe-struck world bow down
    Before his banner'd tread.
So down the world hath bow'd
    Upon her letter'd page,
And the wild homage of the crowd
    Swell'd on from age to age.

What miseries mark'd his way,
    How oft the orphan wept,
How deep the earth in sackcloth lay
    No trace her annal kept.
Though like a torrent's flow
    The widow's tear gush'd out,
The current of that secret woe
    Quell'd not the victor's shout.

The Gospel's sacred scroll
    A different standard shows,
Its plaudit on the humble soul
    And contrite, it bestows.

To men of holy life
    Its glorious crown is given,
Who nurse amid this vale of strife,
    The peaceful germs of Heaven.