This article, though mentioned as from "Wood's Almanack," was orig-

inally published in the "Christian Disciple."

EDITOR'S APOLOGY IN BORROWED LINES.

SICK is my heart of tales of blood,
Borne on each gale o'er field and flood!
Oh! deeply does my soul abhor
The desolating sword of War.
Was Man a social creature made
To thin his race with Murder's blade,
And render social life more rude,-
More curst than drearest solitude?
Ah! tell us not at Glory's call
That myriads every age must fall,—
That thus th' encumber'd world has need
Its victims oft should fight and bleed ;—
I hear the God of Truth reply,-

" 'Twas Hell's arch-fiend devis'd the lie."
The Gospel bids our bickerings cease,
And only whispers," Love and Peace!"