Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/40

IN WAR TIME And ten thousand men disowning

The old flag.

O, the fury of the fight

Even then was at its height!

Yet no breath, from noon till night,

Reached us here;

We had almost ceased to wonder,

And the day had faded under,

When the echo of the thunder

Filled each ear!

Then our hearts more fiercely beat,

As we crowded on the street,

Hot to gather and repeat

All the tale;

All the doubtful chances turning,

Till our souls with shame were burning,

As if twice our bitter yearning

Could avail!

Who had fired the earliest gun?

Was the fort by traitors won?

Was there succor? What was done

Who could know?

And once more our thoughts would wander

To the gallant, lone commander,

On his battered ramparts grander

Than the foe.

Not too long the brave shall wait:

On their own heads be their fate,

Who against the hallowed State

Dare begin;

Flag defied and compact riven!

In the record of high Heaven

How shall Southern men be shriven

For the sin?

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