To Our President

By Katharine Lee Bates

HOPE of the Nations, lift thy stricken heart.

Thyself art Sorrow, and to thee the cry

Of battle-anguish comes more piercingly

Than even in those months of sneer and smart,

When thou so steadfastly didst bear thy part,

True Champion of Peace. And now, when high

The war-storm rages, when horne's darlings die

By mangled thousands, lift thy stricken heart

For a white shield of mercy, torch that throws

Its reconciling gleam across the seas.

O thou in love and grief pre-eminent,

Divine shall be thy comfort to appease

These bleeding Christian armies, sudden foes

That slaughter in a fierce astonishment.