And like abortive thunder, the dull roll And let me pass, gently as winds in May, From the dim realm which owns thy shadowy sway, To thy diviner sleep, O sacred Death! PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. THE FALLEN. (IN MEMORIAM, MAY 30.) I. TOLL the slow bell, Toll the low bell, Toll, toll, Make dole For them that wrought so well. Come, come, With muffled drum And wailing lorn Of dolorous horn; The solemn measure slow Toll and beat and blow; Put out all glories that adorn The sweet, unheeding morn. To the muffled drum And the sad horns Bring flowers for them that took the thorns. Knell, knell; Let the slow bell Be struck and the troubled drum; Come, come, The solemn measure slow Toll and beat and blow; Rebuke this bright, unpitying light. The solemn measure slow Toll and beat and blow For them our beauty and our might II. Hark! voices, joyous voices break From the green martyr-mounds: "Wake, wake! The Lord our God, once more He saith, This hand made all-it made not death. Let the blithe bells ring And the May air sing; This glad May morn; Lift the valiant measures high Of the proud earth and sky For them that tent "Blow the glad horn, This glad May morn; Stanch, undaunted measures blow, Gathering courage as they go, Valiant measures high Carolled of earth and sky; Set the bright, triumphal stave That faltered not nor fell; For them and all whereso yon colors wave, And the proud earth and heaven. There believe and battle they Whose face is toward the day, Where is no night, Where is no death nor shadow of the grave." JOHN VANCE CHENEY. |