 | Original Songs (1861) |  |
57
DEATH OF THE BRAVE.
I
Oh, welcome the trumpet! The sooner it blows,The sooner our country will sink in repose.
It will lead us to victory, or it will be
The death-knell of all that is noble and free.
II
If we die in our duty, the spot where we fall,For ages to come, will be hallow'd by all;
And Beauty, low kneeling, will through her long hair
Shed a tear on our graves while breathing a prayer.
III
And poets unborn yet will chant forth our praise,And make us immortal in undying lays;
For the brave is the harvest which Death reaps, and leaves
To be garner'd in glory'mid Fame's golden sheaves.
T. M.
| Original Songs (1861) | |