Unheard was the sound of labor,
Mute—hushed was the voice of the street; Only the tread of passers by,
Who stayed not their hastening feet.
Only half whispers, curt replies
To eager questions, doubtful given; For hearts were awed with sudden fear,
For dearest ties of earth were riven.
Soft cloudlets afloat on the blue,
Pure wreaths of the shimmering snow, Re-uttered in language sublime,
The breathings of unwonted woe.
Alas, for the dreaming of life!
Though heard not the roll of the drum, Nor witnessed the ensign of war,
A merciless tyrant had come.
Strife is no strife ill-divided
When man fighteth frail brother-man; But war is a warfare unequal
When giant force leadeth one van.
What marvel that mortals shrank back,
That science e'en held bated breath;— Over the lights of our dwellings
There hovered the angel of death.
The flags which drooped from the windows,
And waved in the winterly sun, Signalled fierce battle was raging,
But told not of victory won.
They were no flags of our nation,
No tri-colored red, white and blue; Heralds of hope, or of freedom,
Beamed not in their pale, saffron hue.
II.
Sore lack of helpful, nursing hands
Was keenly felt within those walls; Since selfish dread had closed the soul
To lucre's bribe, or mercy's calls.
Had closed the soul of all save those
Whose life is but to do His will; Who fear not Afric's burning sands,
Nor Javan swamp, nor Iceland chill.