Page:The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag.djvu/39

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

Songs of War and Country

To the American Flag

Starry folds, whose matchless splendor
  Long hath blessed our grateful eyes;
Gleaming with a light more tender
  Than your rivals in the skies;
Wave as always, in a glory
  None may tarnish or excel;
Keep upon our lips the story
  That our fathers loved to tell!

May your grandeur be unceasing,
  Proud reminder of the past;
As in noble rank increasing,
  Each new ray outshines the last.
Yesterday for one young nation
  You in valor were unfurled;
But today your constellation
  Beams aloft for all the world!

1918

The Old Sword

The old, old sword hangs on the wall,
  Its edge, once keen, is notched and worn,
Yet belt and scabbard heard the call,
  On fields once red e'er I was born!

Perchance one grasp'd this hilt, now old,
  Upon the field of Bemis Heights,
While yoemanry, unbent and bold,
  Cried freedom for a country's rights.

It may have clanked with Arnold's sword,
  And Hashed in face of British foe;
Could this old blade but speak the word,
  What blood and carnage it would show!

And yet the hand that grasped this blade,
  Once led the fray on Bunker Hill,
Where, in the turmoil, battle made,
  Foeman and friend lay cold and still.

Had it but speech, would it not tell,
  How in the sulphurous, paling day,
Vast trees were rent with shot and shell,
  While maddened hosts led on the fray?

When Wellington his forces led,
  Against the sons of Gaul in blue,
A gallant leader bowed his head
  On the gray fields of Waterloo.

The old, old sword upon the wall,
  Is resting now. Its work is done!
The belt and scabbard hear no call,
  But slumber in oblivion.

1921

15