 | Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr |  |
84
OUR FLAGS AT THE CAPITOL
Remove them not! Above our fallen braves
Nature not yet her perfect work hath wrought;
Scarce has the turf grown green upon their graves,
The martyr graves for whose embrace they fought.
Nature not yet her perfect work hath wrought;
Scarce has the turf grown green upon their graves,
The martyr graves for whose embrace they fought.
The wounds of our long conflict are not healed;
Our land's fair face is seamed with many a scar;
And woeful sights, on many a battle-field,
Show ghastly grim beneath the evening star.
Our land's fair face is seamed with many a scar;
And woeful sights, on many a battle-field,
Show ghastly grim beneath the evening star.
Still does the sad Earth tremble with affright,
Lest she the tread of armèd hosts should feel
Once more upon her bosom. Still the Night
Hears, in wild dreams, the cannon's thundering peal.
Lest she the tread of armèd hosts should feel
Once more upon her bosom. Still the Night
Hears, in wild dreams, the cannon's thundering peal.
Still do the black-robed mothers come and go;
Still do lone wives by dreary hearthstones weep;
Still does a Nation, in her pride and woe,
For her dead sons a mournful vigil keep.
Still do lone wives by dreary hearthstones weep;
Still does a Nation, in her pride and woe,
For her dead sons a mournful vigil keep.
Ah, then, awhile delay! Remove ye not
These drooping banners from their place on high;
They make of each proud hall a hallowed spot,
Where Truth must dwell and Freedom cannot die.
These drooping banners from their place on high;
They make of each proud hall a hallowed spot,
Where Truth must dwell and Freedom cannot die.
Now slowly waving in this tranquil air,
What wondrous eloquence is in their speech!
No prophet “silver tongued,” no poet rare,
Even in dreams may hope such heights to reach.
What wondrous eloquence is in their speech!
No prophet “silver tongued,” no poet rare,
Even in dreams may hope such heights to reach.
85
They tell of Life that calmly looked on Death—
Of peerless valor and of trust sublime—
Of costly sacrifice, of holiest faith,
Of lofty hopes that ended not with Time.
Of peerless valor and of trust sublime—
Of costly sacrifice, of holiest faith,
Of lofty hopes that ended not with Time.
Oh! each worn fold is hallowed! set apart
To minister unto us in our needs—
To bear henceforth to many a fainting heart,
The cordial wine of noble thoughts and deeds.
To minister unto us in our needs—
To bear henceforth to many a fainting heart,
The cordial wine of noble thoughts and deeds.
Then leave them yet awhile where, day by day,
The lessons that they teach, your souls may learn;
So shall ye work for righteousness alway,
And for its faithful service ever yearn.
The lessons that they teach, your souls may learn;
So shall ye work for righteousness alway,
And for its faithful service ever yearn.
Now may God bless our land for evermore!
And from all strife and turmoil grant surcease;
While from the mountains to the farthest shore
Accordant voices softly whisper—Peace!
And from all strife and turmoil grant surcease;
While from the mountains to the farthest shore
Accordant voices softly whisper—Peace!
| Poems by Julia C. R. Dorr | |