War

The Great Republic goes to war,   But spring still comes as spring has done,   And all the summer months will run Their summer sequence as before;   And every bird will build its nest,   The sun sink daily in the west,     And rising eastward bring new day     In the old way. But ah, those dawns will have a light, Those western skies burn golden bright,   With what a note the birds will sing,   And winter’s self be turned to spring     Than any springtime sweeter far,   When once again, calm entering,     The great Republic comes from war!