Classic Poem

Thus through the beating of the reveille,
Through bloody conflict, blent with gray and blue,
Until the breath of peace with solemn hush
Has stilled the throbbing of the last tattoo;

Until the form of Justice, pale and wan,
Arising from the iron reign of Mars,
Has laved her garment in the well of truth,
And lifted up her glories to the stars;

Has bound a halo on each sunken mound,
And washed the field and cleansed the blood-stained stream,
And in the night-watch trailed her mantle down
The fair Valhalla of the warriors' dream.

For hands are clasped across the bridge of years,
And hearts are knit, that cold and severed lay,
Upon a shrine where fame's unerring shaft
Engrafts the cypress on the deathless bay.

Where memories live, reft of the barb that stings,
And valor dwells, robbed of the thorn of hate;
Where union lifts the war-cry of to-day
Above the trappings of a trampling fate.

Ay, turn old world, to see them proudly stand,
A warp of gray upon a woof of blue;
Ay, pause to see a brutal horde storm-swept,
In freedom's name, by prowess tried and true.

They pledge the freeborn blood that knows not fear,
Nor ever knew the touch of conquering hand;
For death, — then with their faces to the foe, —
For life, — the strength and sinew of the land.

Yea, theirs the deeds of Puritanic brawn,
And theirs the flower of Southern chivalry;
Yea, theirs the land, — blest be the earth that shrines
The ashes of a Lincoln and a Lee!

For truth dies not, and by her light they raise
The flag whose starry folds have never trailed;
And by the low tents of the deathless dead
They lift the cause that never yet has failed!