FURL that Banner, for ’tis weary;
Round its staff ’tis drooping dreary;
Furl it, fold it—it is best;
For there’s not a man to wave it,
And there’s not a sword to save it,
And there’s not one left to lave it
In the blood which heroes gave it;
And its foes now scorn and brave it;
Furl it, hide it—let it rest!
Broken is its staff and shattered;
And the valiant hosts are scattered,
Over whom it floated high.
Oh, ’tis hard for us to fold it,
Hard to think there’s none to hold it,
Hard that those who once unrolled it
Now must furl it with a sigh!
Once ten thousands hailed it gladly,
And ten thousands wildly, madly,
Swore it should forever wave—
Swore that foeman’s sword could never
Hearts like theirs entwined dissever,
And that flag should float forever
O’er their freedom or their grave!
And the hearts that fondly clasped it,
Cold and dead are lying low;
And the Banner—it is trailing,
While around it sounds the wailing
Of its people in their woe.
Love the cold, dead hands that bore it!
Weep for those who fell before it!
Pardon those who trailed and tore it!
But, oh, wildly they deplore it,
Now who furl and fold it so!
Yet, ’tis wreathed around with glory,
And ’twill live in song and story
Though its folds are in the dust!
For its fame on brightest pages,
Penned by poets and by sages,
Shall go sounding down the ages—
Furl its folds though now we must.
Treat it gently—it is holy,
For it droops above the dead;
Touch it not—unfold it never;
Let it droop there, furled forever,—
For its people’s hopes are fled.
DEATH OF GRANT
AS one by one withdraw the lofty actors
From that great play on history’s stage eternal,
That lurid, partial act of war and peace—of old and new contending,
Fought out through wrath, fears, dark dismays, and many a long suspense;
All past—and since, in countless graves receding, mellowing
Victor and vanquished—Lincoln’s and Lee’s—now thou with them,
Man of the mighty day—and equal to the day!
Thou from the prairies?—and tangled and many veined and hard has been thy part,
To admiration has it been enacted!
Walt Whitman.
The humblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as much credit for the results of the war as those who were in command.
ROBERT E. LEE
A GALLANT foeman in the fight,
A brother when the fight was o’er,
The hand that led the host with might
The blessed torch of learning bore.
No challenge fierce, resounding far,
When reconciling wisdom comes
To heal the cruel wounds of war.
Love makes the heart of nations one,
And so, thy soldier grave beside,
We honor thee, Virginia’s son.
OLD GLORY ON THE ISLAND
MEN who have had grave differences and looked at each other coldly and passed with unsmiling faces have, when some calamity threatened, sprang shoulder to shoulder and spent their united strength in defense of a common cause.
Thus in the Spanish-American spurt of war,—serious enough, too serious, alas, in some aspects; but great in some of its beneficent results. In that call, “To Arms!” was laid to rest—forever forgotten—the old enmity between the North and the South, engendered by the Civil Strife.
On the island of Cuba, the trenches of the United States Army were five miles in extent and in shape of a horseshoe. Above the trenches, five curving miles of Stars and Stripes gleamed.
To the United States prisoners, confined in the prison, within sight of these flags, but under the flag of Spain, the waving emblems before their eyes brought daily hope and courage.
In full vision of the men in the trenches fluttered the flag of Spain; above their heads Old Glory flew,—the sheltering Stripes and Stars.
As night came down, and land and shimmering sea was bathed in the white light of the sub-tropics, the strains of the “Star-Spangled Banner” were borne upon the air and fell away softly, as if coming from across the water. Every man uncovered and stood with silent lips, and eyes fixed upon Old Glory until the last echoing note died in the distance, then turned again to duties; but upon his face was stamped the deeper understanding of the meaning of it all—of Flag, and Home, and Country.
Thus from the shores of a tropic island, fighting together for the flag of the nation, both Blue and Gray gained a new and happier viewpoint; and looking back across the warm and shining waters of the Gulf Stream, each knew that all was good, and said:—
And from the blown, white ashes of the dead,
We rise to larger life.”
That satisfies the soul, though all the air
Hurtles with horror and with rude alarms.”
WHEELER’S BRIGADE AT SANTIAGO
'NEATH the lanes of the tropic sun
The column is standing ready,
Awaiting the fateful command of one
Whose word will ring out
To an answering shout
To prove it alert and steady.
And a stirring chorus all of them sung
With singleness of endeavor,
Though some to “The Bonny Blue Flag” had swung
And some to “The Union For Ever.”
And the long ranks rose to follow,
Till their dancing banners shone more fair
Than the brightest ray
Of the Cuban day
On the hill and jungled hollow;
And to “Maryland” some in the days gone by
Had fought through the combat’s rumble
And some for “Freedom’s Battle-Cry”
Had seen the broad earth crumble.
Who had been a man’s wife in the morning;
For the banners we loved we bore to the height
Where the enemy stood
As a hero should
His valor his country adorning;
But drops of pride with your tears of grief,
Ye American women, mix ye!
For the North and South, with a Southern chief,
Kept time to the tune of “Dixie.”
SOLDIERS
SO many, many soldiers
At reveille fared forth;
Such ready, willing soldiers,
From sunny South and North.
At noon to face the fight;
So many weary wounded
Home-dreaming in the night.
To drum and bugle sound;
So many war-scarred sleepers
On death’s white-tented ground.
Calm-sleeping in the sun,
Beneath one happy flag again,
God rest you, every one.
Great Time, the high priest, shrives;
While Southern winds are telling
The fragrance of brave lives.
In slumber folded deep,
O soldiers, brothers, every one,
God’s peace attend your sleep.
Of Nature’s kind, fostering care,
Are blooming,—our heroes are sleeping,—
And peace broods perennial there.
All over our land rings the story
Of loyalty, fervent and true;
“One flag, and that flag is Old Glory,”
Alike for the Gray and the Blue.
John Howard Jewett.
Printed in the United States of America.
Transcriber’s Note:
The original punctuation, language and spelling have been retained, except where noted.
The changes made to the original text are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will appear.
- Page v: for “Soldiers”; to Mr. John Howard Jewitt for
- Page v: for “The Cruise of the Monitor” by George M. Boker;
- Page 60: Now all is hushed: th gleaming lines
- Page 67: And the star-spangled banner n triumph shall wave
- Page 74: Packenham!
- Page 75: General Packenham heroically waved his troops
- Page 80: As fair and free as now
- Page 83: Charles Dawson Shanley.
- Page 113: George M. Baker.
- Page 173: Will Allen Dromgoloe.