The Watcher

RIDGELY TORRENCE

THE WATCHER

.The gemlike eyes for sight,

The vision that lights the being,

The glories of day and night

That wait the glory of seeing,

All these will not avail

Against that blinding power

Before whose glare grow pale

All hues of flesh and flower.

Against the doom to which

The nations rush, divided,

And leave the furrows rich,

Fear-fevered, folly-guided,

To that which waits to grind

The reaping with the reaper,

Which looks upon the blind

And strikes their darkness deeper,

Which ever, from our birth,

Leads down the deathward dances,

For hourly on the earth

War casts its bayonet glances.