At the CONSECRATION of PULASKI’S
banner.
When the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowled head;
And the censer burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung
The crimson banner, that with prayer
Had been consecrated there.
And the nuns’ sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.
“Take thy banner! May
it wave
Proudly o’er the good
and brave;
When the battle’s distant
wail
Breaks the sabbath of our
vale.
When the clarion’s music
thrills
To the hearts of these lone
hills,
When the spear in conflict
shakes,
And the strong lance shivering
breaks.
“Take thy banner! and, beneath
The 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 night
Closes 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’er
Thou shouldst press
the soldier’s bier,
And the muffled drum
should beat
To the tread of mournful
feet,
Then this crimson flag
shall be
Martial cloak and shroud
for thee.”
The warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud!
