Peace

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Title:     Peace
Author: Frank Oliver Call [More Titles by Call]

Now Peace at last is hovering o'er the world
On silver wings, and golden trumpets blow.
Home from the long crusade the warriors go,--
Victorious knights with banners wide unfurled,
Bow down your head, for these have passed where swirled
Great tides of darkness ebbing too and fro;
Their eyes have seen, 'mid fiery tempests' glow,
How youth at Death its dauntless challenge hurled.

And these are they who saw the Holy Grail,
Brimming with youthful blood like ruddy wine
Poured out in sacrifice. The light divine
Before whose awful glow they did not quail
Now beckons us; and shall our footsteps fail
To follow where they set the blood-stained sign?

NOVEMBER, 1918.

[The end]
Frank Oliver Call's poem: Peace

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