Samuel H. Jenks (1789–?)

ON the spot where my war-couch stood,

Where my spring-time of fame was pass’d,

Where the patriot’s prayer, and the hero’s blood

Pour’d fervently and fast—

Where the spirit of glory stole

O’er my earliest and brightest dream,

With the trumpet’s blast and the drum’s rude roll,

And the falchion’s dazzling gleam—

Lay me down on that hallow’d spot—

Long in peace I may there remain;

For the foeman’s standard now waveth not

On yonder battle-plain.

When this weary and struggling soul

From its bondage of clay hath fled,

Make my humble grave on yon grassy knoll,

’T is a meet and quiet bed!

On its brow there ’s a blasted oak,

Like its withering branch am I;

Yet though ravens there may be heard to croak,

Heaven’s softest breeze shall sigh:—

And, my children, a stream glides there,

Gently laving its verdant base;—

Of perennial bliss ’t is an emblem fair—

It shall mark my resting place!

Once the proud and the gallant tread

Of the warrior press’d that mound;

But his comrades soon o’er the prostrate dead

May pour the farewell round.

And when cometh my final strife,

Let me be with my comforter,

That the last fond gaze of expiring life

Be consecrate to her.

Then if far, far beyond the grave,

Be the memory’s employment free,

It shall cherish the look that affection gave,

In all eternity!

O! ’t is sweet, when my task is done,

Thus to witness my banner furl’d:—

When the storm is spent, so the setting sun

Smiles on a parting world!