The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/The Old Sword
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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!
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.
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 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.
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?
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.
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.
Is resting now. Its work is done!
The belt and scabbard hear no call,
But slumber in oblivion.
1921