Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 164, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 July 1918 — OUR LITTLE HOUR [ARTICLE]

OUR LITTLE HOUR

Oar little hour—how swift It flies When poppies flare and lilies smile;, How soon the fleeting minute dies. Leaving us but a little while To dream our dream, to sing our song, To pick the fruit, to pluck the flower. The gods—they do not give us long— Our little hour. Our little hour—how short a time To wage our wars, to fan our hates. To take our fill of armored crime. To troop our banners, storm the gates. Blood on the sword, our eyes blood-red. Blind In our puny reign of power. Do we forget how soon is sped Our little hour? •» Y Our little hour—how goon It dies; How short a time to tell our beads. To chant our feeble litanies. To think sweet thoughts, to do good deeds. The altar lights grow pale and dim, The bells hang silent in the tower — So passes with the dying hymn Our little hour. —Leslie Coulson, in London Poetry Review.