New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1876-06-07
Aud ,cious banners reno the air,
Dark steeds of battle neigh,
And frantic through the sllphurous glare
Raves on the crimson fray

Your valOr tried and tIue;
And that which makes your c0untry's pride
May well be pride to you!
Forever through the soldiers thought
The soldiers life returns
Or where the trampled fields are fought.
Or where the campfire burns.
For him the pOmp of morning brings
A thrill none else can know:
For him night waves her sable wings
Ger many nameless woe.
How often, face to face with death,
In stern suspense he stood,
While bird and insect held their breath
Within the ambushed wood
Again he sees the silent hills,
With dangers menace grim;
And darlily all the shuddering rills
Run red with blood, for him.
For him the cruel sun OF noon
Glarcs on briStliDg plain;
Fur him the cold, disdainful moon
Lights meadows rough with slain.
There's death in every sight he sees,
In every sound he hears;
And sunset hush and evening breeze
Are sad with pIisOned tears.
VIII.
Again. worn out in midnight march,
He sinks beside the track;
Again, beneath the lonely arch,
Hrs dreams of home come back;
In morning wind the roses shake
Around his cottage door,
And little feet of children make
Their music on the floor.
The tones chat nevermOre on earth
Can bId his pulses leap.
ling ont again. i'll careless mrth,
Across the wales of sleep;
And WHERE in hOrrcnt splendOr, roll
The waves of Nict'ry's tide,
The chosen comrades of his soul
Arc glorious ut his side !
Forget the arm may lose Its might,
The tired heart beat low,
The sun from heaven blot ont his light,
The west wind cease to blow
But while one spark of life is warm
Within this mold of clay.
His soul will revel III the storm
OF that tremendous day.
XI.
On mountain slope, in lonely glen,
BY Fatc's divine command,
The blood of those devoted men
Has sanctitied this land!
The funeral mosS--but not in grief
Waves DER their hailOwGd rest;
And not in grief the laurel leaf
Drops Oh the hero's breast
Tears FOR the living, when Gods gift
(The friend OF man 10 boz
Wastes, like the shattered spGrs that DRIFT
Upon the unknown sca
Tears for the wreck who sinks at last,
No deed of valOr done;
But no tears for the soul that past
When hcnoI's fight was won
XIII.
He takes the hand of Heavenly Fato
Who lives, and dies for truth!
For him the holy angels want,
In realms of endless youth
The grass upon his grave is green
With everlasting bloom
And love and blessings make the sheen
OF glory round his tomb!
XIV.
Mourn not for them, the loved and gone
Tie cause they died to save
Plants an eternal Cornerstone
Upon the martyrs grave:
And, safe from all the ills We pass,
Their sleep IA sweet and low,
Meath reQuicms OF the murmurlng grass
Ard dngcs of the snow.
That sunset watts its holiest kiss
Through evening
That beauty breaks the heart with bliss
The hour before it fades,
That music seems Ia merge with heaven
Just when its echo dies,
Is Nature's sacred promise given
of life beyond the skies.
XVI.
Mourn not in life and death they teach
This thougbt-this truth-suDlime
There's no man free, except he reach
Beyond the verge of time.
So, bcckOning up the starry slope
They bid our souls to i've;
And, flooding all the world with hope,
Have taught us to forgive.
XVII.
No soldier spurns fallen foe!
No hat. of humankind
Can darken down the generous glow
That hres the patriot mind
But Love shall make the yanqulshcd strong,
And Justice lift their ban
Where right no more can bend to wrong
Nor man be slave to man.
XVIII.
So from their quiet graves they speak.
So speaks that quiet scene
Where now the violet blossoms meek,
And all the fields are green.
There wood and stream and flower and bird
A pure content declare;
And where the voice of war was heard
Is heard the voice of prayer.
XIX.
Once more in perfect love, o Lord,
Our alicned hearts unite
And clasp, across the broken sword,
The hands that used to snitc
And since beside POtomac's wave
There's nothing left but peace,
BE filed at last the open grave,
And let the lTTOw cease.
Xxx.
Sweet, from the plying northern pines,
Their loving whisper flows;
And swcetly, where the orange shines,
The paln-tTce wOOs the rose:
Alb, let that tender mnsic nun