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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396710" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>At The Close</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396710" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">To Thee, dear God of Mercy, both appeal,<br>Who straightway sound the call to arms. Thou know'st;<br>And that black spot in each embattled host,<br>Spring of the blood-stream, later wilt reveal.<br>Now is it red artillery and white steel;<br>Till on a day will ring the victor's boast,<br>That 'tis Thy chosen towers uppermost,<br>Where Thy rejected grovels under heel.<br>So in all times of man's descent insane<br>To brute, did strength and craft combining strike,<br>Even as a God of Armies, his fell blow.<br>But at the close he entered Thy domain,<br>Dear God of Mercy, and if lion-like<br>He tore the fall'n, the Eternal was his Foe.</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=George+Meredith">George Meredith</a></strong></div>

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