on the deep,
How quietly the tides come home,
And how the depths of sea-shine sleep;

And we who march towards a goal,
Destroying only to fulfil
The law, the law of that great soul
Which moves beneath your alien will;

We, that like foemen meet the past
Because we bring the future, know
We only fight to achieve at last
A great re-union with our foe;

Re-union in the truths that stand
When all our wars are rolled away;
Re-union of the heart and hand
And of the prayers wherewith we pray;

Re-union in the common needs,
The common strivings of mankind;
Re-union of our warring creeds
In the one God that dwells behind.

Then--in that day--we shall not meet
Wrong with new wrong, but right with right;
Our faith shall make your faith complete
When our battalions re-unite.

Forward!--what use in idle words?--
Forward, O warriors of the soul!
There will be breaking up of swords
When that new morning makes us whole.

A SPELL

(_An Excellent Way to get a Fairy_)

Gather, first, in your left hand
(This must be at fall of day)
Forty grains of wild sea-sand
Where you think a mermaid lay.
I have heard that it is best
If you gather it, warm and sweet,
Out of the dint of her left breast
Where you see her heart has beat.

_Out of the dint in that sweet sand
Gather forty grains, I say;
Yet--if it fail you--understand,
There remains a better way._

Out of this you melt your glass
While the veils of night are drawn,
Whispering, till the shadows pass,
"_Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!_"
Then you blow your magic vial,
Shape it like a crescent moon,
Set it up and make your trial,
Singing, "_Elaby, ah, come soon!_"

_Round the cloudy crescent go,
On the hill-top, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tip-toe,
"Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!
Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"_

Bring the blood of a white hen
Slaughtered at the break of day,
While the cock, in the fairy glen,
Thrusts his gold neck every way,
Over the brambles, peering, calling,
Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,
Far and wide--as the dews are falling--
Clamouring, calling, everywhere.

_Round the crimson vial go,
On the hill-top, in the dawn,
Singing softly, on tip-toe,
"Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
If this fail,