STRIFE.

Weary of strife — The surge and clash of city life — I sought for peace in solitude, Within the hushed and darkened wood

And on the lonesome moor — But found contending leaf and root Engaged in conflict fierce though mute, While what was frail was slain

By what was strong in dire dispute — I sought for peace in vain! The world, sustained by strife, endures in pain. “All things that are in conflict be,”

I murmured on the shelving strand, Where struggling winds would fain be free — The tides in conflict with the wind's command, Turned tossing, wearily —

I heard the loud sea labouring to the land — I saw the dumb land striving with the sea.