Laurel
I
Because in danger's darkest hour,
When heart and hope sank low,
She nerved our frail and faltering power
To brave its mightiest foe;
Because our fathers smiled to see
Her golden lilies dance
O'er the proud field that made us free,
We plight our faith to France!
Ah, grand and sweet the holy bond,
That who gives all is blest!
And love can give no pledge beyond
The life she loves the best.
That pledge these hallowed rites declare,
Of choice and not of chance,
And he shall cross the sea to bear
Our loyal hearts to France!
Strong, tender, gentle, patient, wise,
Brave soul and constant mind,
True wit, that kindles as it flies
And leaves no grief behind, —
Be thine to wear the snowy plume
And poise the burnished lance, —
Our rose of chivalry, to bloom
Among the knights of France!
Be thine the glorious task to speed
The conquering age of gold,
Till ravaged peace no more shall bleed,
And history's muse behold,
Borne in the vanward, fast and far,
Of the free world's advance,
Blent with Columbia's bannered star,
The triple stripes of France!
II
Dark streamers of the eastern gale,
Blown far across the desert sea,
Your wings have filled the snowy sail
That bears my comrade back to me!
Through glist'ning surge and flying foam
Your stormy pinions waft him home.
Cold waves that beat the murmuring shore, —
Sad pulsing throbs of ocean's breast, —
Your grieving cadence mourns no more,
Your sobbing requiem dies to rest, —
When now, by all fame's banners fanned,
The laurelled wanderer comes to land.
No longer now our weary eyes
Gaze down the empty ocean track:
No more we muse, with stifled sighs,
On ships that sailed and came not back, —
Glad hopes that flew, on fancy's wing,
When all the world was love and spring.
For now the hollow cave of night,
The silent deep of time and space,
Through many a rift of diamond light,
Yields up our argosy of grace;
And all sweet airs of heaven enfold
Its silver sails and spars of gold.
The lion heart that never quailed,
The patient spirit, sweetly wise,
The equal mind, howe'er assailed
By grief that blights and time that tries, —
Those are the glories that she bore,
And those the riches come to shore.
There should be fairer flowers than these,
And all the bells of joy should fling
Their music on the perfumed breeze,
With sweeter songs than I can sing, —
On whose frail harp the sunset ray
Of passion long has died away.
Yet once again its fragile strings,
Slow trembling to my trembling touch,
Shall softly wake to hallow things
So precious and beloved so much, —
Truth, valor, kindness, — all that blend
To make the champion and the friend!
His world of hope be crowned in this!
Bloom round him, wheresoe'er he goes,
White lilies of perpetual bliss,
Entwined with honor's fadeless rose!
May all be his that love has made
Of laurel that can never fade!
Because in danger's darkest hour,
When heart and hope sank low,
She nerved our frail and faltering power
To brave its mightiest foe;
Because our fathers smiled to see
Her golden lilies dance
O'er the proud field that made us free,
We plight our faith to France!
Ah, grand and sweet the holy bond,
That who gives all is blest!
And love can give no pledge beyond
The life she loves the best.
That pledge these hallowed rites declare,
Of choice and not of chance,
And he shall cross the sea to bear
Our loyal hearts to France!
Strong, tender, gentle, patient, wise,
Brave soul and constant mind,
True wit, that kindles as it flies
And leaves no grief behind, —
Be thine to wear the snowy plume
And poise the burnished lance, —
Our rose of chivalry, to bloom
Among the knights of France!
Be thine the glorious task to speed
The conquering age of gold,
Till ravaged peace no more shall bleed,
And history's muse behold,
Borne in the vanward, fast and far,
Of the free world's advance,
Blent with Columbia's bannered star,
The triple stripes of France!
II
Dark streamers of the eastern gale,
Blown far across the desert sea,
Your wings have filled the snowy sail
That bears my comrade back to me!
Through glist'ning surge and flying foam
Your stormy pinions waft him home.
Cold waves that beat the murmuring shore, —
Sad pulsing throbs of ocean's breast, —
Your grieving cadence mourns no more,
Your sobbing requiem dies to rest, —
When now, by all fame's banners fanned,
The laurelled wanderer comes to land.
No longer now our weary eyes
Gaze down the empty ocean track:
No more we muse, with stifled sighs,
On ships that sailed and came not back, —
Glad hopes that flew, on fancy's wing,
When all the world was love and spring.
For now the hollow cave of night,
The silent deep of time and space,
Through many a rift of diamond light,
Yields up our argosy of grace;
And all sweet airs of heaven enfold
Its silver sails and spars of gold.
The lion heart that never quailed,
The patient spirit, sweetly wise,
The equal mind, howe'er assailed
By grief that blights and time that tries, —
Those are the glories that she bore,
And those the riches come to shore.
There should be fairer flowers than these,
And all the bells of joy should fling
Their music on the perfumed breeze,
With sweeter songs than I can sing, —
On whose frail harp the sunset ray
Of passion long has died away.
Yet once again its fragile strings,
Slow trembling to my trembling touch,
Shall softly wake to hallow things
So precious and beloved so much, —
Truth, valor, kindness, — all that blend
To make the champion and the friend!
His world of hope be crowned in this!
Bloom round him, wheresoe'er he goes,
White lilies of perpetual bliss,
Entwined with honor's fadeless rose!
May all be his that love has made
Of laurel that can never fade!
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