Page:Florence Earle Coates Mine and Thine 1904 109.jpg

 Once, long ago, in ages gone,

When man seemed as the brute,

I looked with dread to wisdom's dawn,

And virtue's ripening fruit:

Now sages wreathe my brow with bays,

And poets chant my praise.

And once, in little Bethlehem—

Once only, not again—

Peace wore a royal diadem:

But I could trust to men,

And crucified upon a tree,

Peace is a memory!