Post-war verse for a year's end by Ida Randolph Spragge, wife of Maclean's editor Thomas B. Costain, from the magazine's January 1919 issue.
THE GIFT OF 1918
The hour had struck and through the hall
Echoed the summoning angels call:
"Enter, your race is run. O year,
The Lord awaits your presence here."
Hastening then to his command,
Before the Throne to take his stand,
The old year, tattered, thorn and grim,
But yet triumphant, knelt to Him.
"I laboured long, O God to find,
The door to Peace for all mankind,
That hideous war on earth should cease
And freedom, bound, find swift release.
"My task is done Thou bidd'st me do,
A world from chaos springs anew,
A world where people worship Thee
I love and deep humanity.
"For when the thundering guns were hushed
And evil beast were beaten, crushed,
With bursting heart and brimming eye
The earth game thanks to Thee on high.
"So take this gift I bring to-day,
Nor from it turn Thy face away—
The hearts of men who worship Thee
In love and deep humanity."
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