The Rose of Peace

If Michael, leader of God’s host When Heaven and Hell are met, Look’d down on you from Heaven’s door-post He would his deeds forget. Brooding no more upon God’s wars In his Divine homestead, He would go weave out of the stars A chaplet for your head. And all folk seeing him bow down, And white stars tell your praise, Would come at last to God’s great town, Led on by gentle ways; And God would bid his warfare cease. Saying all things were well; And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven with Hell.