Volume 3 — PEACE.
Reading edition
"Not as the world giveth give I unto you."--St. John 14th. Break not its sleep, the faithful grief, still tender; God gives at length his own beloved rest; How worn and the suffering brow! Yet these meek fingers Still press the cross of patience to her breast. Stir not the air with one sweet, lingering cadence From life's fair prime of love and hope and song; Serener airs, from martyr hosts celestial, To that high trance of Conquered peace belong. Hush mortal joy or wail, hush mortal paeans; Ye cannot reach that Thabor height sublime Where God's eternal joy, in tranquil vision, Seems nearer than the sights and sounds of time.
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[Original.]