811. C. M. Anonymous. Prospect of Universal Peace.

1 O'er mountain tops, the mount of God,
In latter days, shall rise
Above the summits of the hills,
And draw the wondering eyes.

2 The beams that shine from Zion's hill
Shall lighten every land;
The King who reigns in Salem's towers
Shall the whole world command.

3 Nor war shall rage, nor hostile strife
Disturb those happy years;
To ploughshares men shall beat their swords,
To pruning-hooks their spears.

4 No longer host, encountering host,
Shall crowds of slain deplore;
They'll lay the martial trumpet by,
And study war no more.