126
CONSECRATION.
Will it make less chilly and dreadful the ice-cold touch of the wave
That launches the fearsome mortal out on the unexplored main?
That launches the fearsome mortal out on the unexplored main?
I sleep, and my dreams they are troubled,—I hear the rolling of drums,
The martial blast of the trumpet, the rush of caparisoned steeds;
I see the gray smoke of the conflict, the red hot fog of the guns,
The crimson stains of the greensward, where many a true heart bleeds!
The martial blast of the trumpet, the rush of caparisoned steeds;
I see the gray smoke of the conflict, the red hot fog of the guns,
The crimson stains of the greensward, where many a true heart bleeds!
Aloft, like the gold gleam of sunlight, the banners flash on the air,
Above the strife and the carnage where men to demons are turned;
I see the glitter of broadswords, the horrible eye of despair!
Oh, God of Heaven! that honors should be so terribly earned!
Above the strife and the carnage where men to demons are turned;
I see the glitter of broadswords, the horrible eye of despair!
Oh, God of Heaven! that honors should be so terribly earned!
I walk o'er the dread plain at midnight, my feet are wet with the gore!
I shudder at dead men's faces gazing blankly up to the sky,
With eyes that see not the calm stars, with eyes that shall see nevermore!
Ah me! it is dreadful! dreadful! going to battle to die!
I shudder at dead men's faces gazing blankly up to the sky,
With eyes that see not the calm stars, with eyes that shall see nevermore!
Ah me! it is dreadful! dreadful! going to battle to die!
