Poems (Ford)/War
For works with similar titles, see War.
WAR.
He comes, the Destroyer, with rapid tread;
The clang of his armor might rouse the dead
From their slumbers calm and deep,
As he rushes over the hallowed graves
O'er which the laurel yet freshly waves,
Where a Nation's heroes sleep.
The clang of his armor might rouse the dead
From their slumbers calm and deep,
As he rushes over the hallowed graves
O'er which the laurel yet freshly waves,
Where a Nation's heroes sleep.
He sweeps o'er the earth, and his lightning breath
Scorches up Nature's fair face; beneath
The weight of his iron heel
Proud cities and temples to earth are trod,
And he changes the crystal streams to blood
With his bristling beard of steel.
Scorches up Nature's fair face; beneath
The weight of his iron heel
Proud cities and temples to earth are trod,
And he changes the crystal streams to blood
With his bristling beard of steel.
He stalks over Ocean's tranquil breast,
And the bird-like ships, that so lately pressed
The wave with their wings of snow,
Quiver in rage, and with angry flash
Their battle-thunders in fury dash,
To shatter each pinioned foe.
And the bird-like ships, that so lately pressed
The wave with their wings of snow,
Quiver in rage, and with angry flash
Their battle-thunders in fury dash,
To shatter each pinioned foe.
Oh, woe to the land unto which he comes!
There is bitter wailing in lonely homes
For the loved and the brave laid low;
Dark Sorrow and Ruin mark his path,
As his grim attendants, Disease and Death,
Drape nations in weeds of woe.
There is bitter wailing in lonely homes
For the loved and the brave laid low;
Dark Sorrow and Ruin mark his path,
As his grim attendants, Disease and Death,
Drape nations in weeds of woe.
He tears from the mother her noble boy,
The staff of her years, her hope and joy;
He leaves the forsaken wife
To weep o'er her babes in her lonely home,
Where the loved one never again may come
To brighten her dreary life.
The staff of her years, her hope and joy;
He leaves the forsaken wife
To weep o'er her babes in her lonely home,
Where the loved one never again may come
To brighten her dreary life.
He rushes on in his dreadful rage,
Unmoved by the sorrows of youth or age,
Till his fearful task is o'er;
Till his crimson harvest of mangled sheaves
In the boundless storehouse of Death he leaves
On the dim, eternal shore.
Unmoved by the sorrows of youth or age,
Till his fearful task is o'er;
Till his crimson harvest of mangled sheaves
In the boundless storehouse of Death he leaves
On the dim, eternal shore.
And they who have roused the monster's wrath—
Will they bravely stand in his fiery path,
In the heat of the awful strife?
Will they draw the poison from sorrow's dart?
Will they gladden the mourner's bleeding heart?
Will they bring back the dead to life?
Will they bravely stand in his fiery path,
In the heat of the awful strife?
Will they draw the poison from sorrow's dart?
Will they gladden the mourner's bleeding heart?
Will they bring back the dead to life?
All honor give to the patriot brave,
The victor's crown or the hero's grave,
Who battles in Freedom's cause;
But deathless shame to the wretch whose hand
Would sink in ruin his native land
To hide from her outraged laws.
The victor's crown or the hero's grave,
Who battles in Freedom's cause;
But deathless shame to the wretch whose hand
Would sink in ruin his native land
To hide from her outraged laws.
Almighty Father, whose bounteous hand
Is stretched in mercy o'er wave and land,
The crimson avenger stay;
Raise Thou our land from this blood and strife
To a higher, holier, purer life,
That shall flourish till Time's decay.
Is stretched in mercy o'er wave and land,
The crimson avenger stay;
Raise Thou our land from this blood and strife
To a higher, holier, purer life,
That shall flourish till Time's decay.