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Philip Stanhope Worsley: Not with iron steeped in slaughter

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Anti-war essays, poems, short stories and literary excerpts

British writers on peace and war

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Philip Stanhope Worsley

From Strength

Men…
Who sheathed the sword when peace might be,
And, bravely glad, confessed it gain;
In whose severe sublimity
Envy detects no fatal stain;
Men of a perfect mould; and such,
Who knew themselves and knew their time,
We cannot honour over-much
In story or in rhyme.

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From Advent

How by shining forms attended,
By what golden stair,
He, the Son of God, descended –
Tell me, Earth and Air! –
Hark! the heaven itself is ringing,
All the bine wide arch
Rolls a sonnd of angels singing
His triumphant march.

Not with iron steeped in slaughter,
Nor with blood-red feet,
Comes He, but like rills of water
Where the dry suns beat.
Love with happy eyes before Him
Melteth sin like snow;
All whom He hath made adore Him,
Fount of peace below.

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