Land of the hurricane!
Land of the avalanche!
Land of tempest and rain;
Of the Southern sun and of frozen peaks;
Stretching from main to main;--
Land of the cypress-glooms;
Land of devouring looms;
Land of the forest and ranch;--
Hush every sound to-day
Save the burden of swarms that assemble
Their reverence dear to pay
Unto him who saved us all!
Ye masses that mourn with bended head,
Beneath whose feet the ground doth tremble
With weight of woe and a sacred dread--
Lift up the pall
That to us shall remain as a warrior's banner!
Gaze once more on the fast closed eyes;
Mark once the mouth that never speaks;
Think of the man and his quiet manner:
Weep if you will; then go your way;
But remember his face as it looks to the skies,
And the dumb appeal wherewith it seeks
To lead us on, as one should say, "Arise--
Go forth to meet your country's noblest day!"
X
Ah, who shall sound the hero's funeral march?
And what shall be the music of his dirge?
Let generations sing, as they emerge
And pass beneath the heavens' trumphal arch!