The sight, I remember, rendered me so honestly indignant, that I could not help pointing it out to the Mackerel Chaplain, who was engaged in selling hymn-books to the wounded. The Chaplain looked a moment at the Fusion Ticket before us.
"They sleep for the Flag," says he, softly, "and may its Stars shed pleasant dreams upon their loyal souls for ever."
The Chaplain is an enthusiast, my boy, and this is what he has written about
OUR GUIDING STARS.
The planets of our Flag are set
In God's eternal blue sublime,
Creation's world-wide starry stripe
Between the banner'd days of time.
Upon the sky's divining scroll,
In burning punctuation borne,
They shape the sentence of the night
That prophesies a cloudless morn.
The waters free their mirrors are;
And fair with equal light they look
Upon the royal ocean's breast,
And on the humble mountain brook.
Though each distinctive as the soul
Of some new world not yet begun,
In bright career their courses blend
Round Liberty's unchanging Sun.
Thus ever shine, ye Stars, for all!
And palsied be the hand that harms
Earth's pleading signal to the skies,
And Heav'ns immortal Coat of Arms.