Songs! sound like the thunder's breath!
Boom o'er the world and say:
Brave men may die — Right has no death!
Truth never shall pass away!
Go! sing thro' a nation's sighs!
Go! sob thro' a people's tears!
Sweep the horizons of all the skies,
And throb through a thousand years!
* * * * *
And the songs, with brave, sad face,
Go proudly down their way,
Wailing the loss of a conquered race
And waiting an Easter-day.
Away! away! like the birds,
They soar in their flight sublime;
And the waving wings of the poet's words
Flash down to the end of time.
When the flag of justice fails,
Ere its folds have yet been furled,
The poet waves its folds in wails
That flutter o'er the world.
Songs, march! and in rank by rank
The low, wild verses go,
To watch the graves where the grass is dank,
And the martyrs sleep below.
Songs! halt where there is no name!
Songs! stay where there is no stone!
And wait till you hear the feet of Fame
Coming to where ye moan.
And the songs, with lips that mourn,
And with hearts that break in twain
At the beck of the bard — a hope forlorn —
Watch the plain where sleep the slain.
* * * * *