Above that grave the east winds blow, And from the marsh-lands drifting slow The sea-fog comes, with evermore The wave-wash of a lonely sh.o.r.e, And sea-bird"s melancholy cry, As Nature fain would typify The sadness of a closing scene, The loss of that which should have been.
But, where thy native mountains bare Their foreheads to diviner air, Fit emblem of enduring fame, One lofty summit keeps thy name.
For thee the cosmic forces did The rearing of that pyramid, The prescient ages shaping with Fire, flood, and frost thy monolith.
Sunrise and sunset lay thereon With hands of light their benison, The stars of midnight pause to set Their jewels in its coronet.
And evermore that mountain ma.s.s Seems climbing from the shadowy pa.s.s To light, as if to manifest Thy n.o.bler self, they life at best!
_John G. Whittier._
The Flower of Liberty
What flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from Heaven so freshly born?
With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land: O tell us what its name may be,-- Is this the Flower of Liberty?
It is the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty!
In savage Nature"s far abode Its tender seed our fathers sowed; The storm-winds rocked its swelling bud, Its opening leaves were streaked with blood, Till lo! earth"s tyrants shook to see The full-blown Flower of Liberty!
Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty!
Behold its streaming rays unite, One mingling flood of braided light-- The red that fires the Southern rose, With spotless white from Northern snows, And, spangled o"er its azure, see The sister Stars of Liberty!
Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty!
The blades of heroes fence it round, Where"er it springs is holy ground; From tower and dome its glories spread; It waves where lonely sentries tread; It makes the land as ocean free, And plants an empire on the sea!
Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty!
Thy sacred leaves, fair Freedom"s flower, Shall ever float on dome and tower, To all their heavenly colors true, In blackening frost or crimson dew,-- And G.o.d love us as we love thee, Thrice holy Flower of Liberty!
Then hail the banner of the free, The starry Flower of Liberty!
_Oliver Wendell Holmes._
The Lamb
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and made thee feed By the stream and o"er the mead?
Gave thee clothing of delight,-- Softest clothing, woolly, bright?
Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I"ll tell thee; Little lamb, I"ll tell thee; He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a lamb.
He is meek and He is mild; He became a little child: I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name.
Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!
Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!
_William Blake._
The Roll Call
"Corporal Green!" the orderly cried; "Here!" was the answer, loud and clear, From the lips of the soldier standing near, And "Here" was the answer the next replied.
"Cyrus Drew!"--then a silence fell-- This time no answer followed the call, Only the rear man had seen him fall, Killed or wounded he could not tell.
There they stood in the failing light, These men of battle, with grave dark looks, As plain to be read as open books, While slowly gathered the shades of night.
The fern on the hillside was splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew Were redder stains than the poppies knew And crimson-dyed was the river"s flood.
"Herbert Kline!" At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing between them Herbert Kline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.
"Ezra Kerr!"--and a voice said "Here!"
"Hiram Kerr!"--but no man replied.
They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed, And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.
"Ephraim Deane!" then a soldier spoke; "Deane carried our regiment"s colors," he said; "Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead, Just after the enemy wavered and broke.
"Close by the roadside his body lies; I paused a moment and gave him a drink, He murmured his mother"s name I think, And Death came with it and closed his eyes."
"Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us dear-- For that company"s roll when called that night, Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but twenty that answered "Here!"
_N.G. Shepherd._
A Prayer for a Little Home
G.o.d send us a little home To come back to when we roam-- Low walls and fluted tiles, Wide windows, a view for miles; Red firelight and deep chairs; Small white beds upstairs; Great talk in little nooks; Dim colors, rows of books; One picture on each wall; Not many things at all.
G.o.d send us a little ground-- Tall trees standing round, Homely flowers in brown sod, Overhead, Thy stars, O G.o.d!
G.o.d bless, when winds blow, Our home and all we know.
_London "Spectator."_
I Have Drank My Last Gla.s.s
No, comrades, I thank you--not any for me; My last chain is riven--henceforward I"m free!