THE WAITS TO THE CZAR.
Word of Peace!—on Earth first spoken nigh two thousand years ago,
Art thou at this moment broken?—and who dares belie thee so?
'Tis a tyrant, cruel, scheming, whose ambition takes the field
In the very name, blaspheming, which that message then revealed.
Frost and snow, keen Christmas weather, and the biting winter wind,
Bid us lovingly together huddle closely, all mankind;
Blood is on the Danube freezing; wounds are agonized with cold,
Only for the sake of pleasing one proud felon uncontrolled.
All good souls are now beseeching blessings on their fellow man,