Classic Poem

Round the band of warriors weary,
Night's star-spangled curtains close;
And, while evening zephyrs whisper,
Seek the Grecians their repose:
But the sweet, restoring angel,
Twin to one we surname “Death,”
Will not near them fold his pinions,
Woo them with his balmly breath.

Deep within each warrior's bosom
Was a fount of sacred love,
Welling up for far-off dear ones,
Faithful as the tender dove.
Longed they for their native country,
As chained eagles to be free;
And they sighed for home's rich blessings,
As the death-doomed sigh to flee.

With his warrior friends reclining,
Mused the “Bee of Greece” a while,
Till his dreams took form in action,
And he rose to bid them smile.
With his eloquence unrivalled,
Spake to them the “Athenian Muse,”
Till his words the dense clouds lifted,
And with cheerful hearts they rose.

Then through dangers dire he led them,
Toward the home they longed to see,
Writing on their banners “Safety,”
Synonyme of “Victory;”
Till once more, amid their dear ones,
Sinking swift to calm repose,
They with grateful hearts remembered
How he cheered their night of woes.

So, while Life's fierce conflicts waging,
Pausing 'mid the din of strife,
Sleep forsakes our path, and, sighing,
Long we for a better life,
Then, with eloquence supernal,—
Ne'er by Xenophon possessed,—
Speaks the world's exemplar Saviour,
“Come to me and find your rest.”

Weary, yearning, fainting spirits,
Ere in death your eyes shall close,
Follow Him through all earth's dangers:
He will lead to sweet repose.
As you wave the palms of victory
On the brighter, better shore,
You will shout, with grateful spirits,
“Safe from sin forevermore!”

Not alone for glorious victory
Over death and grief and pain;
But for safety from the tempter
Shall you sing with joy again;
And your Leader's wisdom lauding,
Strike your harp with louder tone,
Singing, “Praise to Jesus ever:
We are saved through him alone!”