Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/31

 The lad who made the cannon roar Survives on Life’s tumultuous shore. His locks are silvered, but his brain Burns with heroic throbs amain. Gentle and kind, but valiant yet, Forgiving, he cannot forget The Cause he fought for, with his mate Immortal, whatsoe’er its fate; While from his great dark eyes there gleams The orient of remembered dreams.

And now the old bard’s final rhyme Invokes a blessing of Easter time, Upon his people and home and race, Like manna-dew of heavenly grace. With higher aims, in war’s surcease, Be thou allied with the Prince of Peace, And never, henceforth, forget to be “Soldier of Him who died for thee.”