The Return Of Peace Poem by John Critchley Prince

Once more to visit a distracted world,
The spirit of sweet Peace comes trembling down,
As war's ensanguined flag is newly furled,
And the gorged vulture from his banquet flown;
She comes to solace our lorn hearts again
For countless losses in the fatal fray;
Oh, let us give her an enduring reign,
Nor scare the angel visitant away!

Her deeds are bloodless, dignified, and just,
'Gainst the mixed evils of our lower life,
And far more worthy of our hopeful trust
Than the vain victories of mortal strife;
Against injustice, ignorance, and crime,
She sets her hallowed powers in bright array;
Oh, let us make her sojourn here sublime,
Nor scare the angel visitant away.

Let stalwart Labour clear his clouded brow,
Toil on, but with strong rectitude of soul,
Seize manfully the treasures of the Now,
And strive with honour for a loftier goal;
Let him love Freedom, whose refulgent wings
Add richer glory to the glorious day,
And Peace, for the calm blessings that she brings,
Nor scare the angel visitant away.

Let men who make or minister the laws,
So use them that the humblest may rejoice,
And get the noble meed of pure applause
From a united people's grateful voice;
Let them give lustre, majesty, and grace,
And vital spirit, to the lands they sway,
Keep faith with Peace, and bless her dear embrace,
Nor scare the angel visitant away.

Art, Science, Knowledge, may serenely grow,
And human virtues quicken and expand,
Even gaunt Poverty o'ercome its woe,
Where Peace remains the guardian of the land;
But he is wilful, pitiless, or blind,
From right, and righteous feeling, all astray,
Foe to his God, his country, and his kind,
Who scares the angel visitant away.

For dormant passion, prejudice, and pride,
Start into evil at War's trumpet—call;
And hearts are seared, and souls are trouble-tried,
And minds subjected to a slavish thrall.
While industry is baffled, Waste runs wild,
And Liberty stands still in mute dismay!
Let us choose Peace, if wise and undefiled,
Nor scare the angel visitant away.

Albeit men differ in their clime and creed,
In thought and predilection, as in tongue,
Say, would the nations murmur to be freed
From hideous War and its unfailing wrong?
Would they could bid the mighty torment cease,
By some great law which none would disobey,
Make an inviolate covenant with Peace,
Nor scare the angel visitant away.