O my Peace who smilest, thy soft eyes filled with tears, Summer rainbow, sunny evening, Who, with thy golden fingers, Fondlest the besprinkled fields, Carest for the fallen fruits, And healest the wounds Of the trees which the wind and the hail have bruised; Shed on us thy healing balm, and lull our sorrows to sleep! They will pass, and we also. Thou alone endurest for ever. Brothers, let us unite; and you, too, forces within me, Which clash one upon another in my riven heart! Join hands and dance along! We move forward calmly and without haste, For Time is not our quarry. Time is on our side. With the osiers of the ages my Peace weaves her nest. * * * * * I am like the cricket who chirps in the fields. A storm bursts, rain falls in torrents, drowning The furrows and the chirping. But as soon as the flurry is over, The little musician, undaunted, resumes his song. In like manner, having heard, in the smoking east, on the devastated earth, The thunderous charge of the Four Horsemen, Whose gallop rings still from the distance, I uplift my head and resume my song, Puny, but obstinate. Written August 15 to 25, 1914.[2] "Journal de Genève" and "Neue Zürcher Zeitung," December 24 and 25, 1915; "Les Tablettes," Geneva, July, 1917. II UPWARDS, ALONG A WINDING ROAD If I have kept silence for a year, it is not because the faith to which I gave expression in _Above the Battle_ has been shaken (it stands firmer than ever); but I am well assured that it is useless to speak to him who will not hearken. Facts alone will speak, with tragical insistence; facts alone will be able to penetrate the thick wall of obstinacy, pride, and falsehood with which men have surrounded their minds because they do not wish to see the light. But we, as between brothers of all the nations; as between those who have known how to defend their moral freedom, their reason, and their faith in human solidarity; as between minds which continue to hope amid silence, oppression, and grief--we do well to exchange, as this year draws to a close, words of affection and solace. We must convince one another that during the blood-drenched night the light is still burning, that it never has been and never will be extinguished.