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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>21st September 1870</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Speak low, speak little; who may sing<br>While yonder cannon-thunders boom?<br>Watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:<br>Nor 'pipe amid the crack of doom.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And yet-the pines sing overhead,<br>The robins by the alder-pool,<br>The bees about the garden-bed,<br>The children dancing home from school.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And ever at the loom of Birth<br>The mighty Mother weaves and sings:<br>She weaves-fresh robes for mangled earth;<br>She sings-fresh hopes for desperate things.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=355074" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And thou, too: if through Nature's calm<br>Some strain of music touch thine ears,<br>Accept and share that soothing balm,<br>And sing, though choked with pitying tears.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Charles+Kingsley">Charles Kingsley</a></strong></div>

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