The Touch Of Nature

The Touch of Nature.

Warring nations maim and slay

Where the war god sets his path,

Burn and harry day by day

In the ruthless way of wrath.

Yet when terror crowned the peak

And a million furies swirled

Over little Martinique

She was kin to all the world.

War its feast of death has kept

Over every foot of earth,

And the tears that sorrow wept

Have been held of little worth.

Yet when Nature rose in ire,

In the rage none understands,

Martinique's baptismal fire

Made her kin to all the lands.

When, with thrilling shriek and roar,

All the pent-up torrents fell,

Burning field and plain and shore

With a breath that brimmed from hell,

Ere the flames their flags of woe

Had in floating smoke wreaths furled

Little Martinique could know

She was kin to all the world.

'Tis the touch of Nature's hand

That marks our relationship

And bids words of pity stand

All a-tremble on the lip.

To the misery that man

Works himself he's ever blind,

But the touch of Nature can

Make a whole world wondrous kind.

- Baltimore American