STRIFE for a quarter-century, With nor sword-thrust, nor battle-cry, Nor powder-smoke, nor victory, Nor St. John's Knight in the melee. Yet many were the conflicts hot, Of which the idle world recked naught; How dire the peril often grew God only knew. E'en to the depths of my soul rent, With wounds in hands and feet sore spent, Crushed beneath many a cruel heel, How sharp the pangs they made me feel! How I have wept and moaned and sighed, While my foe's cruel taunts replied; How to the mark each keen shaft flew, God only knew. Evening draws near, a cool breeze blows, The stress of battle feebler grows; Sometimes the lips which pain has blanched, Utter a sigh -- the blood is stanched -- Past is the anguish of the fray, A star shines with a gentle ray, Peace comes -- the path of trial trod -- Bestowed by God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A STRANGE MEETING by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES AT SUNSET TIME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR CHAMBER MUSIC: 1 by JAMES JOYCE |