AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER.
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hen the dying flame of dayThrough the chancel shot its ray,Far the glimmering tapers shedFaint light on the cowled head;And the censer burning swung,Where, before the altar, hungThe crimson banner, that with prayerHad been consecrated there.And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle. "Take thy banner! May it waveProudly o'er the good and brave;When the battle's distant wailBreaks the sabbath of our vale.When the clarion's music thrillsTo the hearts of these lone hills,When the spear in conflict shakes,And the strong lance shivering breaks. "Take thy banner! and, beneathThe battle-cloud's encircling wreath,Guard it, till our homes are free!Guard it! God will prosper thee!In the dark and trying hour,In the breaking forth of power,In the rush of steeds and men,His right hand will shield thee then. "Take thy banner! But when nightCloses round the ghastly fight,If the vanquished warrior bow,Spare him! By our holy vow,By our prayers and many tears,By the mercy that endears,Spare him! he our love hath shared!Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared! "Take thy banner! and if e'erThou shouldst press the soldier's bier,And the muffled drum should beatTo the tread of mournful feet,Then this crimson flag shall beMartial cloak and shroud for thee." The warrior took that banner proud,And it was his martial cloak and shroud!
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