This page has been validated.
8
ARMISTICE DAY
That lights our morrow, blended now
With mornings of a vernal sphere,
Where down the trail-furrow with his plow
He strides—the Yankee Pioneer:
There ever the world is new to his eyes
That lift from valor-conquered loam
Where rose Sierras ever rise
Sublime beyond the fields of home;
There ever the world is a new world
Of labor towards another day;
Ever the Pilgrim's breath is whirled
To the vast horizons far away;
And ever there, as he flicks the dew
From an oldish tattered book and sings,
His psalm goes up forever new—
Goes up on whirring of April wings:
How beautiful upon the mountains
Are the lambs of the Lord in their cloudy fleece!
How beautiful upon the mountains
Are the feet of Him who bringeth Peace!
