FAR back in the ages, The plough with wreaths was crowned; The hands of kings and sages Entwined the chaplet round; Till men of spoil disdained the toil By which the world was nourished, And dews of blood enriched the soil Where green their laurels flourished: -- Now the world her fault repairs -- The guilt that stains her story; And weeps her crimes amid the cares That formed her earliest glory. The proud throne shall crumble, The diadem shall wane, The tribes of earth shall humble The pride of those who reign; And War shall lay his pomp away; -- The fame that heroes cherish, The glory earned in deadly fray, Shall fade, decay, and perish. Honour waits, o'er all the Earth, Through endless generations, The art that calls her harvests forth, And feeds the expectant nations. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANGLOSAXON STREET by EARL (EARLE) BIRNEY VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS by GREGORY I THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 34. THE DARK GLASS by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 38. AL-KABIR by EDWIN ARNOLD JESUS - THE KING IN HIS BEAUTY by BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX THE BOOK OF GOD by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR A SEPTEMBER BIRTHDAY IN BRITTANY by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: TERRA INCOGNITA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |