THE RETURNINGWe long for her, we yearn for her—Yes, ardently we yearnFor her return.Recalling those beloved days(Days intimate with waysOf friends so near to usAnd life so dear to us),We yearn unspeakably for her return.And come she must… Yet while we trustWe soon may see the passing of this agonyWhich makes intrusive years still seemA fearsome dream,We know that when she comesShe really comes not back again.She’ll come in other guiseAnd under fairer skies—And yet to bitter pain!That day she went awayOur homes with laughing youth were filled.Where then was happinessIs now distress,The laughter stilled;For when she leftYouth followed her—We stay bereft.So all our golden joyFor what she bringsMust carry gray alloy:The sorrow that she can not lay,The mysery that she can not stay—While all the gladsome songs she singsMust bear for undertonesOld sighs and echoed moans.As they who go awayIn flush of youthMay come quite worn and grayAnd bringing naught but ruth—So, when the strife shall cease,And when she comes at last,When all the armies vastShall at her feetKneel down to greetThrice welcome Peace,This world will be so changed(So many dear ones dead,So many friends estranged,So many blessings fled,So many wonted ways forever barred,So many coming days forever marred)That thenShe truly comes not back again—She, the Peace we knew.Yet how we long for her!How ardently we yearnFor her return!SYLVESTER BAXTER
We long for her, we yearn for her—Yes, ardently we yearnFor her return.Recalling those beloved days(Days intimate with waysOf friends so near to usAnd life so dear to us),We yearn unspeakably for her return.And come she must… Yet while we trustWe soon may see the passing of this agonyWhich makes intrusive years still seemA fearsome dream,We know that when she comesShe really comes not back again.She’ll come in other guiseAnd under fairer skies—And yet to bitter pain!That day she went awayOur homes with laughing youth were filled.Where then was happinessIs now distress,The laughter stilled;For when she leftYouth followed her—We stay bereft.So all our golden joyFor what she bringsMust carry gray alloy:The sorrow that she can not lay,The mysery that she can not stay—While all the gladsome songs she singsMust bear for undertonesOld sighs and echoed moans.As they who go awayIn flush of youthMay come quite worn and grayAnd bringing naught but ruth—So, when the strife shall cease,And when she comes at last,When all the armies vastShall at her feetKneel down to greetThrice welcome Peace,This world will be so changed(So many dear ones dead,So many friends estranged,So many blessings fled,So many wonted ways forever barred,So many coming days forever marred)That thenShe truly comes not back again—She, the Peace we knew.Yet how we long for her!How ardently we yearnFor her return!
SYLVESTER BAXTER