MUTTER OF THE GUNS.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume XLV, Issue XLV, 16 November 1917, Page 1

MUTTER OF THE GUNS.

The laggard, wakeful night hath brought * morning cool and brief; The sunlight sleeps upon the woods, where flutters not 'a leaf. _ ».'--.• It is a Truce of God; yet hark! a murmur' comes to me— The muttering of angry guns ' across the narrow sea. , A few white clouds all'motionless chequer the blue serene. -, The sheep, their wool dew-sprinkled yet, lie quiet on the green. Only these slow, dull throbs repeat; / like heavy hews from far, •"' ..; The thunder of the deadly guns, that *l»y the sheep of war. . . Now like a low, fierce sob it sounds, : a, giant's panting breath, ; Who deals with Jong mechanic swing the, fearful blows of death: ; Now, as when dead volcanoes wake and boiling fires are hurled, And listening cities catch afar the roar that ■ shakes the world. Here,, 'neath the blue and silver vault, where shining clouds are still, ; I walk, the sole heart-troubled thing oa this •-. \mitroubled hill, Seeing in this sweet silent scene of green ' and golden plan The deep tranquillity of Life's indifference to man. Mown like the grass, cut like the flower, quenched like wind-smitten light, Our laughing hero sons aire gone—youth into ancient night; And the gods mourn, who gave them lifeT^ and hope of life for dower, As little as. the mowers tall striding o'er grass .and flower. - ' They sleep, nor hear the guns, our brave— The gods give rest; but we— -■ , Ours is the news that comes to kill across the careless sea. We, who to save jhad joyed to die, yet, jesting, hid our fears, Stretch to the night fond, helpless hands, and call the lost with tears. These hills that drink the■ sunlight "in, these... birds whose pipings flow— Like the high gods, they know not grief, nor care when heroes go. But man—twixt God and earth—can grieve; so I walk here apart,, The thudding of the cruel guns still knocking on my heart. W. P. Rbbvbs.