 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
“GREAT CAPTAIN, GLORIOUS IN OUR WARS”
Great Captain, glorious in our wars—
No meed of praise we hold from him;
About his brow we wreathe the stars
The coming ages shall not dim.
No meed of praise we hold from him;
About his brow we wreathe the stars
The coming ages shall not dim.
372
The cloud-sent man! Was it not he
That from the hand of adverse fate
Snatched the white flower of victory?
He spoke no word, but saved the State.
That from the hand of adverse fate
Snatched the white flower of victory?
He spoke no word, but saved the State.
Yet History, as she brooding bends
Above the tablet on her knee,
The impartial stylus half suspends,
And fain would blot the cold decree:
Above the tablet on her knee,
The impartial stylus half suspends,
And fain would blot the cold decree:
“The iron hand and sleepless care
That stayed disaster scarce availed
To serve him when he came to wear
The civic laurel: there he failed.”
That stayed disaster scarce availed
To serve him when he came to wear
The civic laurel: there he failed.”
Who runs may read; but nothing mars
That nobler record unforgot.
Great Captain, glorious in our wars—
All else the heart remembers not.
That nobler record unforgot.
Great Captain, glorious in our wars—
All else the heart remembers not.
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |