Page:Carroll - Three Sunsets.djvu/27

THE PATH OF ROSES. He crowns the glory of his race: He prayeth but in some fit place To meet his foeman face to face:

And, battling for the True, the Right, From ruddy dawn to purple night, To perish in the midmost fight:

Where hearts are fierce and hands are strong, Where peals the bugle loud and long, Where blood is dropping in the throng:

Still, with a dim and glazing eye, To watch the tide of victory, To hear in death the battle-cry:

Then, gathered grandly to his grave, To rest among the true and brave, In holy ground, where yew-trees wave:

Where, from church-windows sculptured fair, Float out upon the evening air The note of praise, the voice of prayer:

9