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Page 63
Nor is that army's gentle might
Unfelt amid the deadly fight;
It nerves the son's, the husband's hand,
It points the lover's fearless brand;
It thrills the languid, warms the cold,
Gives even new courage to the bold;
And sometimes lifts the veriest clod
To its own lofty trust in God.
When Heaven shall blow the trump of peace,
And bid this weary warfare cease,
Their several missions nobly done,
The triumph grasped, and freedom won,
Both armies, from their toils at rest,
Alike may claim the victor's crest,
But each shall see its dearest prize
Gleam softly from the other's eyes.
The Legion of Honor.
By H.L. Flash.
Why are we forever speaking
Of the warriors of old?
Men are fighting all around us,
Full as noble, full as bold.
Ever working, ever striving,
Mind and muscle, heart and soul,
With the reins of judgment keeping
Passions under full control.
Noble hearts are beating boldly
As they ever did on earth;
Swordless heroes are around us,
Striving ever from their birth.
Tearing down the old abuses,
Building up the purer laws,
Scattering the dust of ages,
Searching out the hidden flaws.
Acknowledging no "right divine"
In kings and princes from the rest;
In their creed he is the noblest
Who has worked and striven best.
Decorations do not tempt them--
Diamond stars they laugh to scorn--
Each will wear a "Cross of Honor"
On the Resurrection morn.
Warriors they in fields of wisdom--
Like the noble Hebrew youth,
Striking down Goliath's error
With the God-blessed stone of truth.
Marshalled 'neath the Right's broad banner,
Forward rush these volunteers,
Beating olden wrong away
From the fast advancing years.
Contemporaries do not see them,
But the _coming_ times will say
(Speaking of the slandered present),
"There were heroes in that day."
Why are we then idly lying
On the roses of our life,
While the noble-hearted struggle
In the world-redeeming strife.
Let us rise and join the legion,
Ever foremost in the fray--
Battling in the name of Progress
For the nobler, purer day.
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