| |
| NOW lamp-lit gardens in the blue dusk shine | |
| Through dogwood, red and white; | |
| And round the gray quadrangles, line by line, | |
| The windows fill with light, | |
| Where Princeton calls to Magdalen, tower to tower, | 5 |
| Twin lanthorns of the law; | |
| And those cream-white magnolia boughs embower | |
| The halls of “Old Nassau.” | |
| |
| The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side | |
| Where redcoats used to pass; | 10 |
| And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died. | |
| And violets dusk the grass, | |
| By Stony Brook that ran so red of old, | |
| But sings of friendship now, | |
| To feed the old enemy’s harvest fifty-fold | 15 |
| The green earth takes the plow. | |
| |
| Through this May night, if one great ghost should stray | |
| With deep remembering eyes, | |
| Where that old meadow of battle smiles away | |
| Its blood-stained memories, | 20 |
| If Washington should walk, where friend and foe | |
| Sleep and forget the past, | |
| Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know | |
| Their souls are linked at last. | |
| |
| Be sure he walks, in shadowy buff and blue, | 25 |
| Where those dim lilacs wave. | |
| He bends his head to bless, as dreams come true, | |
| The promise of that grave; | |
| Then, with a vaster hope than thought can scan, | |
| Touching his ancient sword, | 30 |
| Prays for that mightier realm of God in man: | |
| “Hasten thy kingdom, Lord. | |
| |
| “Land of our hope, land of the singing stars, | |
| Type of the world to be, | |
| The vision of a world set free from wars | 35 |
| Takes life, takes form from thee; | |
| Where all the jarring nations of this earth, | |
| Beneath the all-blessing sun, | |
| Bring the new music of mankind to birth, | |
| And make the whole world one.” | 40 |
| |
| And those old comrades rise around him there, | |
| Old foemen, side by side, | |
| With eyes like stars upon the brave night air, | |
| And young as when they died, | |
| To hear your bells, O beautiful Princeton towers, | 45 |
| Ring for the world’s release. | |
| They see you piercing like gray swords through flowers, | |
| And smile, from souls at peace. | |
| |
