| |
| FURL that Banner, for ’t is weary; | |
| Round its staff ’t is drooping dreary: | |
| Furl it, fold it,—it is best; | |
| For there ’s not a man to wave it, | |
| And there ’s not a sword to save it, | 5 |
| And there ’s not one left to lave it | |
| In the blood which heroes gave it, | |
| And its foes now scorn and brave it: | |
| Furl it, hide it,—let it rest! | |
| |
| Take that Banner down! ’t is tattered; | 10 |
| Broken is its staff and shattered; | |
| And the valiant hosts are scattered, | |
| Over whom it floated high. | |
| Oh, ’t is hard for us to fold it, | |
| Hard to think there ’s none to hold it, | 15 |
| Hard that those who once unrolled it | |
| Now must furl it with a sigh! | |
| |
| Furl that Banner—furl it sadly! | |
| Once ten thousands hailed it gladly, | |
| And ten thousands wildly, madly, | 20 |
| Swore it should forever wave; | |
| Swore that foeman’s sword should never | |
| Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, | |
| Till that flag should float forever | |
| O’er their freedom or their grave! | 25 |
| |
| Furl it! for the hands that grasped it, | |
| And the hearts that fondly clasped it, | |
| Cold and dead are lying low; | |
| And that Banner—it is trailing, | |
| While around it sounds the wailing | 30 |
| Of its people in their woe. | |
| |
| For, though conquered, they adore it,— | |
| Love the cold, dead hands that bore it, | |
| Weep for those who fell before it, | |
| Pardon those who trailed and tore it; | 35 |
| And oh, wildly they deplore it, | |
| Now to furl and fold it so! | |
| |
| Furl that Banner! True, ’t is gory, | |
| Yet ’t is wreathed around with glory, | |
| And ’t will live in song and story | 40 |
| Though its folds are in the dust! | |
| For its fame on brightest pages, | |
| Penned by poets and by sages, | |
| Shall go sounding down the ages— | |
| Furl its folds though now we must. | 45 |
| |
| Furl that Banner, softly, slowly! | |
| Treat it gently—it is holy, | |
| For it droops above the dead. | |
| Touch it not—unfold it never; | |
| Let it droop there, furled forever,— | 50 |
| For its people’s hopes are fled! | |
| |
