Who has won the fate of a steel-true mate, real comrade, friend
and wife,
He tastes the kiss of Elysian bliss in instant, earthly life.
Who sees the gleam of the Stars and Stripes, on land or sea
displayed,
Atilt in the reek of the battle-smoke or aloft o'er the marts of
trade—
Unless his veins are the sluggish drains for the blood of a craven race.—
He will gain new life for a better strife, whatever the odds he
face.
So that is the rede and the homely creed of one who has spelled
it forth
In the rivers' sweep and the splendors deep of the stars of the
hardy North;
To some, I ween, it may seem but mean; too short, too blunt, too plain,
But if those I touch who have felt as much, it will not have been
in vain.