POLK.

By H. L. Flash.

A flash from the edge of a hostile trench,
A puff of smoke, a roar,
Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills,
To the farthermost Christian shore,
Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest
Will battle for right no more.
And that for a cause which is sanctified,
By the blood of martyrs unknown—
A cause for which they gave their lives,
And for which he gave his own—
He kneels, a meek ambassador,
At the foot of the Father’s throne.

“A flash from the edge of a hostile trench.”

And up to the courts of another world,
That angels alone have trod,
He lives away from the din and strife
Of this blood-besprinkled sod—
Crowned with the amaranthine wreath,
That is worn by the blest of God.