The Peace of the Rose

IF Michael, leader of God’s host,
When Heaven and Hell are met,
Looked down on you from Heaven’s door-post,
He would his deeds forget.

Brooding no more upon God’s wars
In his Divine homestead,
He would go weave out of the stars
A chaplet for your head;

And all folk seeing him bow down,
And white stars tell your praise,
Would come at last to God’s great town,
Led on by gentle ways;

And God would bid his warfare cease,
Saying all things were well,
And softly make a rosy peace,
A peace of Heaven and Hell.

W. B. Yeats.