| |
| FURL that Banner, for ’tis weary, | |
| Round its staff ’tis 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 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 the Banner down! ’tis tattered; | 10 |
| Broken is its staff and shattered, | |
| And the valiant hosts are scattered | |
| Over whom it floated high. | |
| Oh, ’tis 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 foemen’s sword could never | |
| Hearts like theirs entwined dissever, | |
| And 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 the 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, ’tis gory, | |
| Yet ’tis wreathed around with glory, | |
| And ’twill 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. | |
| |
