In Time of War

JOHN JAY CHAPMAN

SORROW, that watches while the body sleeps,

Parted the curtains of the cruel dawn

And glided noiselessly to her sad seat

Beside nay pillow.—"Art thou there," I muttered,

"Spirit of silent grief; mute prophetess That, on the marble furrows of thy brow,

Wearest the print of wisdom and of peace?

Art thou still at my side, thou antique nurse

And sybil of the mind,—who easily

Enterest the prisons of humanity

With footfall soft, and walkest in the glooms

Where none save thee may come? Shield me to-day!

And, when the sun's insufferable finger

Moves o'er the wainscot, and his dreaded ray

Sears the unsheathed soul, 0 mighty Spirit,

Darken mine eyes till night be come again!"