Above the chaos of impending ills,
Through all the clamor of insistent strife,
Now, while the noise of warring Nations fills
Each throbbing hour with menaces to life,
I hear the voice of Progress!
                                              Strange indeed
The shadowed pathways that lead up to light.
But, as a runner sometimes will recede
That he may so accumulate his might,
Then with a will that needs must be obeyed
Rushes, resistless, to the goal with ease;
So the whole world seems now to retrograde--
Slips back to war, that it may speed to peace.
And in that backward step it gathers force
For the triumphant finish of its Course.

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox