Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/145

Rh II

Bring music and banners

And wreaths for his bier—

No fault of the fighter

That Death conquered here.

Bring him home ne'er to rove,

Bear him home to his rest,

And over his breast

Fold the flag of his love.

III

Great Captain of battles,

We leave him with Thee!

What was wrong, O, forgive it;

His spirit make free.

Sound taps, and away!

Out lights, and to bed!

Farewell, soldier dead!

Farewell—for a day.

ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

bronze doth keep the very form and mold

Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he:

That brow all wisdom, all benignity;

That human, humorous mouth; those cheeks that hold

Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold;

That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea

For storms to beat on; the lone agony

Those silent, patient lips too well foretold.

Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men

As might some prophet of the elder day—

Brooding above the tempest and the fray