Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PEACE-AND HONOR, by HERMAN CHARLES MERIVALE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PEACE-AND HONOR, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hushed are the sounds of party-strife
Last Line: Not one's nor other's—england's own.
Subject(s): Honor; Jews; Peace; Judaism


HUSHED are the sounds of party-strife
In reverence round the quiet bed,
As all the busy streams of Life
Seem stayed beside one spirit fled:
And England sends the message on,
To West and East,—a great man gone.

He, but a few short days ago
Held in a nation's half-mistrust,
Here feared, there followed, lying low,
Where all may trample on his dust,
Lies safe with laurels round his brow,—
His party's then, his England's now.

Strong loves he conquered on his way,
Strong as the enmities he woke,
And the loosed passions of the day
In praise and anger round him broke:
Anger and Enmity's o'erthrown,
Death has for sister, Love alone.

Men called him alien, deemed him set
On dreams of empire not of ours,
And prone true empire to forget
In the long clash of jarring powers:
But England's 'scutcheon blazons still
The motto of his life,—I will.

In steady purpose, steady toil,
He followed, and he won, the prize,
Which through the Senate's fierce turmoil
Lighted, but dazzled not, his eyes:
Nor rank, nor fortune, smoothed the course;
He dared, and conquered, and by force.

As patient as the great should be,
As watchful as the purposed are,
He marked power's ebbing, flowing sea,
Now sparkling near, now murmuring far,
Till with strong hand he grasped the helm,
Through storm and shine to steer a realm.

And when, Life's threescore years and ten
In the long passage overpast,
He yielded up the helm again,
He stood as steady to the last:
Not Cæsar's robe, when Cæsar died,
Was folded with a calmer pride.

Calmly he gave the reins of State,
As first he held them, self-possessed;
And undismayed, as unelate,
Turned to the love once loved the best,
And wooed, from strife of tongues apart,
The Muse of Story to his heart.

So, England's Minister, good-night!
Nor praise, nor blame, can move thee now;
Safe from the fierce and public light
Which beat upon thy vessel's prow:
Thy place is with the great alone,
Not one's nor other's—England's own.





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