He wanders, dreaming.


WORDS ARE NOT GUNS

Put by the sword (a dreamer saith),
The years of peace draw nigh!
Already the millennial dawn
Makes red the eastern sky!

Be not deceived. It comes not yet!
The ancient passions keep
Alive beneath their changing masks.
They are not dead. They sleep.

Surely peace comes. As sure as Man
Rose from primeval slime.
That was not yesterday. There's still
A weary height to climb!

And we can dwell too long with dreams
And play too much with words,
Forgetting our inheritance
Was bought and held with swords.

But Truth (you say) makes tyrants quail--
Beats down embattled Wrong?
If truth be armed! Be not deceived.
The strife is to the strong.