While its broad folds o’er the battle-fields wave,
Till the dim star-wreaths rekindle its splendors
Washed from its stains in the blood of the brave!
—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
LIFE.[34]
Forenoon and afternoon and night—Forenoon and afternoon and night,
Forenoon, and—what!
The empty song repeats itself. No more?
Yea, that is life: Make this forenoon sublime,
This afternoon a psalm, this night a prayer,