By the Sea, and Other Verses. Baily Hannah Lavinia

      There are only myself and you in the world,

      There are only myself and you;

      'Tis clear, then, that I unto you should be kind,

      And that you unto me should be true.

      And if I unto you could be always kind,

      And you unto me could be true,

      Then the criminal courts might all be adjourned,

      And the sword would have nothing to do.

      A few fertile acres are all that I need, —

      Not more than a hundred or two, —

      And the great, wide earth holds enough, I am sure,

      Enough for myself and for you.

      The sweet air of heaven is free to us all;

      Upon all fall the rain and the dew;

      And the glorious sun in his cycle of light

      Shines alike on myself and on you.

      The infinite love is as broad as the sky,

      And as deep as the ocean's blue,

      We may breathe it, bathe in it, live in it, aye,

      It is life for myself and for you.

      And the Christ who came when the angels sang

      Will come, if the song we renew,

      And reign in his kingdom, – the Prince of Peace, —

      Reigning over myself and you.

      O, then, may I be unto you always kind,

      And be you unto me always true;

      So the land may rest from its turmoil and strife,

      And the sword may have nothing to do.

      "You do but dream; the world will never see

      Such time as this you picture, when the sword

      Shall lie inglorious in its sheath, and be

      No more of valorous deeds incentive or reward."

      The ocean breezes fanned them where they sat,

      At leisure from life's conflict, toil and care,

      Yet not unthoughtful, nor unmindful that

      In all its weal and woe they held their share.

      The rose-light charm and pride of earliest youth

      A chastening touch had toned to lovelier hue,

      And the white soul of purity and truth

      Looked out alike from eyes of brown and blue.

      "I covet your fair hope," he spake again,

      "I cannot share it; all the hoary past

      Denies that mightier prowess of the pen

      The poet claims, and proves it still surpassed

      "By sword and musket and the arts of war.

      And 'twere not so, – the query will return,

      Albeit such conflict we must all abhor —

      How should the fires of patriotism burn?

      "Their flames are kindled by the flash of arms,

      And fed by recount of heroic deed;

      The sanguinary story has its charms

      Tho the heart sicken o'er it as we read.

      "And what were Greece without her Marathon?

      Or Rome, had not her Caesars fought and won?

      How reigns Britannia, Empress near and far,

      But for her Waterloo and Trafalgar?

      "And we, know not our souls a quickening thrill

      At thought of Lexington and Bunker Hill?

      And with a pride no rival passion mars

      Greet we not now our glorious Stripes and Stars?

      "Yes, friend, I own your theory is fine;

      I grant your outlook far exceedeth mine

      In excellence and beauty, in its scope

      Embracing that millennial age of bliss

      The spirit pants for while it chafes in this;

      I covet, tho I cannot share, your hope."

      "My hope," she answered, smiling, "is a faith;

      The kingdoms of this world are yet to be

      The kingdoms of our blessed Lord, the Christ; —

      Lord of all life thro' dire and vengeful death —

      Wrought thro' such sacrifice, unspared, unpriced,

      His word and purpose must fulfilment see,

      And realms by mountains bounded or by seas

      Must own allegiance to the Prince of Peace.

      "I yield to none" – and as she spoke there sped

      Across the opal beauty of the sea

      A light-winged vessel, bearing at its head

      The starry emblem of the brave and free —

      "I yield to none in loyalty and love

      For yon bright banner, but I hold it still

      As token to the world, all else above,

      Of peace on earth and unto man good will.

      "God gave His land to be the home of man;

      And all that brightens and upbuilds the home

      Uplifts humanity; tramp, tribe and clan,

      Knowing no hearthstone, are content to roam,

      "But drawing nearer God the man returns

      And rears his household altar. In some quest

      The feet may wander, but the heart still yearns

      For the soft home-light and the quiet rest.

      "Think yet again, good brother, is it not

      From off such altar, whether it may glow

      In princely palace or in lowliest cot,

      That the true flame of country-love must flow?

      While that enkindled by the flash of arms

      Is a 'strange fire,' consuming while it charms.

      "Lives Greece less nobly in her Parthenon,

      In what her Solons wrote, her poets sang,

      Than in the gastly pride of Marathon,

      And kindred fields where victors' praises rang?

      "And we, enriched thro' Commerce, Letters, Art,

      Forgot our earlier grievances and scars,

      Are we not ready for a better part?

      Have we not now outgrown our need of wars?

      "Surely it should be so," he made reply;

      "The sated earth cries out against the flow

      Of human blood: 'How long? how long?' The cry

      Must pierce the heavens from writhing hearts below.

      "But men heed not;

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