| |
| ONCE this soft turf, this rivulet ’s sands, | |
| Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, | |
| And fiery hearts and armed hands | |
| Encountered in the battle-cloud. | |
| |
| Ah! never shall the land forget | 5 |
| How gushed the life-blood of her brave— | |
| Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet, | |
| Upon the soil they fought to save. | |
| |
| Now all is calm, and fresh, and still; | |
| Alone the chirp of flitting bird, | 10 |
| And talk of children on the hill, | |
| And bell of wandering kine are heard. | |
| |
| No solemn host goes trailing by | |
| The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; | |
| Men start not at the battle-cry, | 15 |
| Oh, be it never heard again! | |
| |
| Soon rested those who fought; but thou | |
| Who minglest in the harder strife | |
| For truths which men receive not now, | |
| Thy warfare only ends with life. | 20 |
| |
| A friendless warfare! lingering long | |
| Through weary day and weary year, | |
| A wild and many-weaponed throng | |
| Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. | |
| |
| Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, | 25 |
| And blench not at thy chosen lot. | |
| The timid good may stand aloof, | |
| The sage may frown—yet faint thou not. | |
| |
| Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, | |
| The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; | 30 |
| For with thy side shall dwell, at last, | |
| The victory of endurance born. | |
| |
| Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; | |
| The eternal years of God are hers; | |
| But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, | 35 |
| And dies among his worshippers. | |
| |
| Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, | |
| When they who helped thee flee in fear, | |
| Die full of hope and manly trust, | |
| Like those who fell in battle here. | 40 |
| |
| Another hand thy sword shall wield, | |
| Another hand the standard wave, | |
| Till from the trumpet’s mouth is pealed | |
| The blast of triumph o’er thy grave. | |
| |
