HER hissing serpents quivering in her hand,
Her sheathless sword athirst for human blood,
Upon our peaceful borders late she stood,
And near her, War, with all his baneful band.
High o'er her head she shook a burning brand
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And flung it in our midst; then paused to see
How Peace, on trembling pinion, fast would flee,
When fire and flame involved the wretched land.
The seething brand came hissing through the air,
Portending deeds of war and woes of hell;
But Justice, she who rules us, watching there,
Stretched forth her hand, and caught it ere it fell.
She deigned not move in her majestic seat,
But tossed it back, in scorn, at Discord's feet.
E. C. P.
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The Vesper Service.
