To Thee Old Cause

To thee old cause!

Thou peerless, passionate, good cause,

Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea,

Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands,

After a strange sad war, great war for thee,

( I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be really fought, for thee,)

These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee.

( A war O soldiers not for itself alone,

Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book. )

Thou orb of many orbs!

Thou seething principle! thou well-kept, latent germ! thou centre!

Around the idea of thee the war revolving,

With all its angry and vehement play of causes,

( With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,)

These recitatives for thee,— my book and the war are one,

Merged in its spirit I and mine, as the contest hinged on thee,

As a wheel on its axis turns, this book unwitting to itself,

Around the idea of thee.