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Written in 1870.

Head of France, thou didst not well
First to sound the battle-knell :
All the blood that shall be spilt
Will but add unto thy guilt.

Prussian monarch, hadst thou said But one word, the countless dead Would not have been strown in vain On each bloody battle-plain.

Emperor and Monarch, hear-
There is One yet mightier;
He will judge you at his bar
For this wanton wicked war.



"I went by, and lo! he was gone; I sought him, but his place could no where be found."

A little breath of wind, you know,

Into a tempest soon may grow,

And overthrow the sturdiest tree

In all its forest majesty ;

So too the Princes of to-day

To-morrow may be nought but clay :
While yet upon their schemes they're bent,
There comes some little incident,

And changes all the government ;

Their robe, their sceptre, and their crown

Soon to the dust are tumbled down;

Already on the vacant throne

There sits in state another one,

Who hears the huzzas long and loud

Of the ungrateful fickle crowd!

Yet do we see men every hour

Striving to build them some great tower,
Fancying to reign in mighty power;
Though scarcely is the wish obtained,
The tower finished, power gained,
Than comes the little shock, and oh !
A great, a startling overthrow!
The finished tower, it is no more,
Perished the man who had the power,
His reign has lasted scarce an hour!
Such scenes of ruin and of woe,
Think you, no useful end can show?
Read them aright, they bid us know
The uncertainty of all below,
That, kindled with intense desire,
We may to greater heights aspire,
And in the Heavens seek an abode
Prepared and built for us by God.


"Woe unto them."

Ye devilish crew,

If Hell itself such Demons hold as you,
Not brave to fight against your country's foe,
Brave only to inflict upon your country woe,
To pillage and to massacre her sons,

And point against an unarmed multitude your guns,
Haters of all that's noble and that's good,
Confederate with traitors, men defiled with blood,

Mouthing your curses against God most high,
As if ye had the strength the Almighty to defy;
Ye would not bow to his correcting hand,
Know, then, he hath ten thousand scourges at command,
His thunder, and his lightning, and his rain,
The shock of earthquake, and the racking hurricane,
The choking heat, the scorching fiery glow,

And cold of Winter with its ice and frost and snow,

Blasting, and mildew, and the worm, and fly, And clouds of countless locusts, darkening the sky, Famine and pestilence, and wild despair, And idiotcy and madness, Hell-delivered pair,

And that last plague, in torment to expire, Fearing worse torments of Gehenna's quenchless fire.

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