FIFES AND DRUMS
65
We know at last its beauty—its magnitude of duty—
Dear God! if thus it seems to us, what will it mean to these
Who stay for it, who pray for it, our kindred over seas?
These who face the red days—the white nights of fury,
Where death like some mad reaper hacks down the living grain—
They shall see our flag arise like a glory in the skies—
The stars of it, the bars of it, that prove it once again
The new flag, the true flag, that does not come in vain!
Theodosia Garrison.
