37. the sentinel of the Seventy-first.
by J. B. Bacon.In the midnight zenith gleam the stars.
Swift as their rays my soul speeds on,
Leaping the streams and the forest bars,
On to the heights of Washington.
There on the star-lit camp-guard's round,
Footfalls I hear of a sentinel, Steps that I love, and the welcome sound
Of a voice I know — it cries, “All's well!”
“Well!” for our land and our starry flag;
“Well I!” for the rights and the hopes of man,
Echoes from plain and from mountain crag,
“Well! all's well!” from the army's van.
Sons of our homes! while the smiles ye love
Prayerfully float round your banners of war,
Look, 'mid the gleam of your bayonets, above!
God holds the guerdon of Victory's star!