And heaven grew dim behind the battle-clouds. And ever, through the clamour of the strife, I heard the ceaseless wailing of a child, And the sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, endless Sobbing of a reft and broken woman. "_Shall it be Peace or War_?" A two-edged sword Could cut no sharper than the gentle voice Of Him who bowed with sorrow at the sight Of man destroying man for sake of gain. I waited, breathless, for the warrior's word. But no word came. His heart was with his men. "_Shall it be Peace or War? Look yet again_!" And at their feet, like mighty map unrolled, Lay all the kingdoms of the earth--at peace. The glad earth smiled beneath a smiling heaven, And brought forth fruit for all her children's needs. The desert lands had blossomed, and the earth Was large enough for all. Her voice came up, A softly-rounded murmur of content, Like bees that labour gladly on the comb. The reign of Peace,--and yet an army lay Couchant and watchful, ready for the strife If strife need be,--the strife of quelling strife,-- An army culled in part from all the lands. Owning no master but the public weal, And prompt to quench the first red spark of war. Even as we watched, a frontier turmoil rose, And therewith rose the army, and the fire Died out while scarce begun. The smoke of it Was scarcely seen, the noise scarce heard; for all The lands, sore-spent with war, had welcomed Peace, And bowed to mightier forces than their own; Men cast aside their armour and their arms, And lived men's lives and were no more machines. "_Wars shall there be, indeed, till that last war That shall wage war on War and sweep the earth Of all war-wagers and of all mankind_." So spake the voice and ceased. And still we gazed,-- A great white building, on its topmost tower A great white flag, proclaimed a World's Tribunal For the righting of the nations' wrongs. And that great army answered its behests And owned allegiance to no other head. Peace reigned triumphant. On the quiet air I heard the merry laughter of the child, And the great sigh of gratitude that rose From all the mother-hearts of all the world. "_Shall it be Peace or War_?"-- Once more the voice,-- "_To one man is it given to decide_, THOU ART THE MAN! _The scales are in_ THY _hand. Think well, and say,--Shall it be Peace or War? As thou, shalt say so shall it be with thee_." But, ere the answer came, all vanished like A scrap of paper in a fire of coals. Then, with a crackling peal, the thick black vail That hangs before the face of men was rent, And in the instant lightning flash I saw,--