 | Verse and prose by Eugene Field : from the George H. Yenowine collection of books and manuscripts |  |
A NATIONAL HYMN
Whether on hill or plain,
Blood of the patriot slain
Hallows our sod;
While from the glorious air
Vaulting our land so fair
Fall, as an incense rare,
Blessings of God.
Blood of the patriot slain
Hallows our sod;
While from the glorious air
Vaulting our land so fair
Fall, as an incense rare,
Blessings of God.
Holy the heritage
Blazoned on hist'ry's page
For us to keep;
Wrapped in thy mantles red,
With our dear flag o'er head,
Rest thee, illustrious dead—
Sweet be thy sleep!
Blazoned on hist'ry's page
For us to keep;
Wrapped in thy mantles red,
With our dear flag o'er head,
Rest thee, illustrious dead—
Sweet be thy sleep!
Princes, that scorn the Right—
Nations, whose pride is Might,
Crumble to dust;
Freedom the boon we crave—
No man shall be a slave
Where'er our banner wave—
God is our trust!
Nations, whose pride is Might,
Crumble to dust;
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No man shall be a slave
Where'er our banner wave—
God is our trust!
Seeing those early years
Dim thro' a mist of tears,
Pausing, we stand;
While spirit voices share
This universal pray'r
Filling the solemn air—
“God bless our land!”
Dim thro' a mist of tears,
Pausing, we stand;
While spirit voices share
This universal pray'r
Filling the solemn air—
“God bless our land!”
Sept. 17, 1887.
| Verse and prose by Eugene Field : from the George H. Yenowine collection of books and manuscripts | |