Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/187

Rh III

But in the battle's flame

How glorious he came!—

Even like a white-combed wave that breaks and tears the shore,

While wreck lies strewn behind, and terror flies before.

IV

'T was he,—his voice, his might,—

Could stay the panic-flight,

Alone shame back the headlong, many leagued retreat,

And turn to evening triumph morning's foul defeat.

V

He was our modern Mars;

Yet firm his faith that wars

Ere long would cease to vex the sad, ensanguined earth,

And peace forever reign, as at Christ's holy birth.

VI

Blest land, in whose dark hour

Arise to loftiest power

No dazzlers of the sword to play the tyrant's part,

But patriot-soldiers, true and pure and high of heart!

VII

Of such our chief of all;

And he who broke the wall

Of civil strife in twain, no more to build or mend;

And he who hath this day made Death his faithful friend.

VIII

And now above his tomb

From out the eternal gloom

"Welcome!" his chieftain's voice sounds o'er the cannon's knell;

And of the three one only stays to say "Farewell!"