PLAINT FOB, BRITON AND BOEB,. (Georgo Crouch in New York Sun.) Alas for the Boer and Briton! Alas for the Briton and Boer! Let us pray to the God of Peace.. Let us curse the God of War! Let us pray for the time when strife shall cease. And all nations worship the God of Peace and curse the God of War. There are desolate homes' on the veldt. There are desolate, homes afar. Dead are the dead. Maimed the maimed. Doomed other martyrs are. From English dales and Scottish glens; from Irish cots and hills of Wales Come sighs and sobs and funeral wails. And sigh and sob and tear for tear. The Transvaal mourners weep their dear. As they are driven together in battle, or- d?red to do or die, T. Atkins doesn't know what it's about, Fighting farmers wonder, why? So the good Queen weeps in her castle; weeps for Briton and Boer. And mothers and widows and children weep and curs the God of War. Who shall be damned for the slaughter? Some chief of political ring? Some ruler, stubborn and crafty? or some ice-hearted diamond king? But Idle now to question Whose the blame , may be. If the case were left to the God of Peace, he would surely damn all three. Now. blessed be those who make Peace. Ever cursed be those who make War; Xo matter who speaks for the Britonv no matter who sides with the Boer.