LIFE’S BATTLE MARCH.

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BY MRS. J. H. THOMAS, (L. L. M.)

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A mighty throng are they who gird

Their armor for the strife;

And, with strong hearts, go forth to win

The battle-field of Life.

The good, the firm, the true, the brave,

The beautiful, are there;

Beside the stern, dark warrior’s helm

Float woman’s tresses fair.

Rose-lips are wreathed with lofty smiles,

Pale cheeks with ardor glow;

And fragile forms from easeful halls

To death or vict’ry go.

Nor fly they from the noontide heat,

To Pleasure’s shaded bowers;

Firm fall the feet that trod, erewhile,

Among the dew-bright flowers.

To battle with Life’s ills they go—

Those hopeful hearts and strong—

Nor shrink they from the toilsome march,

To struggle fierce and long.

These lessons trite they all have conned:

The proudest hopes may fall;

And Beauty, Life, and Bloom repair

To Death’s great carnival—

Earth’s clinging loves may fade away,

Like half-forgotten dreams;

And trusting hearts grow dark and cold

As cypress-shaded streams—

The calmest brow may droop with grief—

The brightest lip may pale;

And eagle eyes grow dim with tears,

When Hate and Wrong prevail—

And yet most glorious words, I ween,

Are woven in the song,

That breathes from every heart and lip,

As sweep those ranks along.

That Wrong and Hate, though leagued with Might,

And Grief, and Pain, and Wo,

Can never crush the True and Right,

Those brave hearts joy to know.

To each calm, earnest, onward soul,

The lofty faith is given,

That every flower that fades on earth,

Far brighter blooms in Heaven.

They know that each encounter stern

With Sorrow makes them strong;

And cheerily their bold, true hearts,

Uplift the glorious song.

They joy to know that soon their tents

On Time’s dim shore will gleam;

That soon their steadfast ranks will stand

Beside Death’s sullen stream;

That soon from the Eternal Walls

Heaven’s silvery chime will sound;

And then Life’s myriad victors be

With God’s own glory crowned.