And the ships shall sail once more, And the cloud of war sweep on To break on the cruel shore;— But Craven is gone, He and his hundred are gone.
The flags flutter up and down At sunrise and twilight dim, The cannons menace and frown,— But never again for him, Him and the hundred.
The Dahlgrens are dumb, Dumb are the mortars; Never more shall the drum Beat to colors and quarters,— The great guns are silent.
O brave heart and loyal! Let all your colors dip;— Mourn him proud ship! From main deck to royal. God rest our Captain, Rest our lost hundred!
Droop, flag and pennant! What is your pride for? Heaven, that he died for, Rest our Lieutenant, Rest our brave threescore!
O Mother Land! this weary life We led, we lead, is ’long of thee; Thine the strong agony of strife, And thine the lonely sea.
Thine the long decks all slaughter-sprent, The weary rows of cots that lie With wrecks of strong men, marred and rent, ’Neath Pensacola’s sky.
And thine the iron caves and dens Wherein the flame our war-fleet drives; The fiery vaults, whose breath is men’s Most dear and precious lives!
Ah, ever when with storm sublime Dread Nature clears our murky air, Thus in the crash of falling crime Some lesser guilt must share.