English poem
Song—in the Chelsea Pensioner
by Anonymous
A WHILE in every nation War may blaze around, Still spreading desolation, Yet there's hopes of peace. A while the billows raging, May sky and sea confound, Yet winds and waves assuaging, Storms at last will cease. But man by vice o'ertaken, A tempest in his mind, His warring passions shaken, Are reeds as in the wind. Rare is the eloquence that has the charm, To rule that pestilence, or quell the storm.