GETTYSBURG
1863-1889
I.
Brothers, is this the spot?
Let the drums cease to beat;
Let the tread of marching feet,
With the clash and clang of steel
And the trumpet's long appeal
(Cry of joy and sob of pain
In its passionate refrain)
Cease awhile,
Nor beguile
Thoughts that would rehearse the story
Of the past's remembered glory;
Thoughts that would revive to-day
Stern War's rude, imperious sway;
Waken battle's fiery glow
With its ardor and its woe,
With its wild, exulting thrills,
With the rush of mighty wills,
And the strength to do and dare—
Born of passion and of prayer!
Let the drums cease to beat;
Let the tread of marching feet,
With the clash and clang of steel
And the trumpet's long appeal
(Cry of joy and sob of pain
In its passionate refrain)
Cease awhile,
Nor beguile
Thoughts that would rehearse the story
Of the past's remembered glory;
Thoughts that would revive to-day
Stern War's rude, imperious sway;
Waken battle's fiery glow
With its ardor and its woe,
With its wild, exulting thrills,
With the rush of mighty wills,
And the strength to do and dare—
Born of passion and of prayer!
II.
Let the present fade away,
And the splendors of to-day;
For our hearts within us burn
As our glances backward turn.
And the splendors of to-day;
For our hearts within us burn
As our glances backward turn.
