By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red Of my bars and their heaven of stars overhead — By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast, As I float from the steeple or flap at the mast, 5 Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod, My name is as old as the glory of God. . . . So I came by the name of Old Glory. 10 15 220 A Life Lesson There! little girl; don't cry! They have broken your doll, I know; And your play-house, too, Are things of the long ago; But childish troubles will soon pass by. There! little girl; don't cry! There! little girl; don't cry! They have broken your slate, I know; Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago; But life and love will soon come by. There! little girl; don't cry! There! little girl; don't cry! They have broken your heart, I know; LOVE'S PRAYER And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams Are things of the long ago; But Heaven holds all for which you sigh. Love's Prayer Dear Lord! kind Lord! Gracious Lord! I pray 87 5 10 15 20 BAYARD TAYLOR AMERICA, 1825-1878 The Song of the Camp "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, Grew weary of bombarding. The dark Redan, in silent scoff, allied Lay, grim and threatening, under; There was a pause. A guardsman said: "We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day They lay along the battery's side, Below the smoking cannon, Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, They sang of love, and not of fame; Each heart recalled a different name, 89 THE SONG OF THE CAMP Voice after voice caught up the song, Rose like an anthem rich and strong, - Dear girl! her name he dared not speak; But as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean burned The bloody sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned 5 10 And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot and burst of shell, And Irish Nora's eyes are dim Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest The loving are the daring. 5 10 15 HENRY VAN DYKE AMERICA, 1852 The Angler's Reveille What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, And all the drowsy little stars have fallen asleep in light; 'Tis then a wandering mind awakens, and runs from tree to tree, And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. This is the carol the Robin throws Over the edge of the valley; Listen how boldly it flows, Sally on sally: Tirra lirra, Down the river, Day is near, Fish are breaking. Tup, tup, tup! All clear Wake up! |