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

Cosmopolitan 25 (September 1898): 540.

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