Our Flag in ‘64.
by D. B. Duffield.
Fling, fling our banner out,With loyal song and shout,
O'er every home and hill,
By each deep valley's mill,
And let its heaven-lit beam
Round every hearth-stone gleam,
And fill the passing hour--
This pregnant, fateful hour--
With all its stirring voices,
And the thunder of its power.
The foe is striking hard;
But in the castle-yard
Uprise fresh traitor bands
To snatch from out our hands,
From fortress and from sea,
This banner of the free,
To give it coward flight,
That Anarchy's dark night,
With all its muttering thunders,
May swallow up its light.
[50] Ay! when our soldiers brave,
On battle-field and wave,
Sprang forth with deadly stroke
Through battle's blazing smoke,
Our standard to uphold,
And save its every fold,
These home-born traitors cry,
“God grant no victory!”
Though scores of gallant heroes
Round the old flag bravely die.
Rise, then, each loyal man,
Your home-horizon scan,
And plant the nation's flag
On hill-side and on crag;
And let your swelling soul
In earnest tones outroll
That brave resolve of old,
When our fathers, true and bold,
Swore a fealty to the flag
Which never once grew cold.
The flag, the flag bends low,
For whirlwinds round it blow,
And wild, chaotic night
Is veiling it from sight;
So let us every one,
While yet the winds rage on,
Cling round the straining mast
And hold the banner fast,
Till stormy Treason's rage
Be safely overpast.
