C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Battle-Field
By William Cullen Bryant (1794–1878)
O
Were trampled by a hurrying crowd,
And fiery hearts and armèd hands
Encountered in the battle-cloud.
How gushed the life-blood of her brave—
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they sought to save.
Alone the chirp of flitting bird,
And talk of children on the hill,
And bell of wandering kine are heard.
The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain;
Men start not at the battle-cry—
Oh, be it never heard again!
Who minglest in the harder strife
For truths which men receive not now,
Thy warfare only ends with life.
Through weary day and weary year;
A wild and many-weaponed throng
Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear.
And blench not at thy chosen lot;
The timid good may stand aloof,
The sage may frown—yet faint thou not.
The foul and hissing bolt of scorn;
For with thy side shall dwell, at last,
The victory of endurance born.
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,
And dies among his worshippers.
When they who helped thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell in battle here!
Another hand the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet’s mouth is pealed
The blast of triumph o’er thy grave.