811. C. M. Anonymous.
Prospect of Universal Peace.
1O'er mountain tops, the mount of God,
In latter days, shall rise
Above the summits of the hills,
And draw the wondering eyes.
2The beams that shine from Zion's hill
Shall lighten every land;
The King who reigns in Salem's towers
Shall the whole world command.
3Nor war shall rage, nor hostile strife
Disturb those happy years;
To ploughshares men shall beat their swords,
To pruning-hooks their spears.
4No longer host, encountering host,
Shall crowds of slain deplore;
They'll lay the martial trumpet by,
And study war no more.