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Decoration Day, 1872
FAR in the East by Ganges’ tide | |
| The subtle, brown-faced Hindus toil; | |
| They cringe before a master’s pride, | |
| They see their land a despot’s spoil, | |
| Their olden temples are despised, | 5 |
| They cannot reap the fields they till, | |
| And all sweet things that make life prized | |
| They hold but at a foeman’s will. | |
| And why? They were not bold and brave, | |
| They still contemned the soldier’s glaive, | 10 |
| And honored not the soldier’s grave. | |
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| Between the good old German hills | |
| Far seaward flows the storied Rhine; | |
| Along the vine-clad banks there thrills | |
| A nation’s triumph half divine. | 15 |
| Beyond, the hearths and homes are free, | |
| Life’s blessings crown the German race; | |
| And through the world where’er he be, | |
| How proudly glows the German’s face! | |
| And why? They were both wise and brave, | 20 |
| They trusted to the soldier’s glaive, | |
| They honored still the soldier’s grave! | |
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| Far cradled in Atlantic seas, | |
| There lies a group of little isles, | |
| Throughout the world in every breeze | 25 |
| Their flag a proud defiance smiles. | |
| Far millions feel their ruling hand, | |
| The orient mines are digged for them; | |
| The wealth of many a distant land | |
| Is garnered for their diadem. | 30 |
| And why? They have been wise and brave, | |
| Their scepter was the soldier’s glaive, | |
| They honored still the soldier’s grave! | |
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| On sunny France a pall of woe | |
| Has like a sombre cloud come down, | 35 |
| She saw her loftiest laid low, | |
| She saw the smoke of many a town. | |
| When struggle came her strength gave way, | |
| Yet look—there’s danger in her eyes; | |
| And nations round her watching say, | 40 |
| “Beware! The tigress may arise!” | |
| And why? Though beaten she is brave, | |
| And still she grips the soldier’s glaive, | |
| And honors still the soldier’s grave! | |
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| As wide as any vision’s bound | 45 |
| Can clip our broad dominions in, | |
| For peace and freedom, sacred ground, | |
| We hold the land our sires did win. | |
| The rights of all beneath the law | |
| We guard within our rich domain, | 50 |
| We bend to none with slavish awe, | |
| The good of all we dare maintain. | |
| And why? We have been true and brave, | |
| And boldly grasped the soldier’s glaive, | |
| And honored still the soldier’s grave. | 55 |
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| Mayhap when come those happy morns, | |
| That age the olden poets sang, | |
| When figs spring freely on the thorns, | |
| And luscious grapes from thistles hang, | |
| When round the quiet cottage door | 60 |
| The tigers with the children play, | |
| When in the heart of man no more | |
| Man’s stormy passions hold their sway, | |
| We can forget to praise the brave, | |
| And fling aside the soldier’s glaive, | 65 |
| And honor not the soldier’s grave! | |
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