Or come you home of Monday
When Ludlow market hums
And Ludlow chimes are playing
'The conquering hero comes';

Come you home a hero,

Or come not home at all;
The lads you leave will mind you
Till Ludlow tower shall fall.

Your friends by field and town. Oh, town and field will mind you

Till Ludlow tower is down.

A. E. HOUSMAN

THE DAY OF BATTLE

'FAR I hear the bugle blow

To call me where I would not go,
And the guns begin the song,

'But since a man that runs away Lives to die another day,

And cowards' funerals, when they come,

Are not wept so well at home,

'Therefore, though the best is bad,
Stand and do the best, my lad,
Stand and fight and see your slain
And take the bullet in your brain.'

A. E. HOUSMAN

A BALLAD OF HEROES

BECAUSE you passed, and now are not—
Because in some remoter day
Your sacred dust in doubtful spot

Was blown of ancient airs away—

Because you perished-must men say Your deeds were naught, and so profane Your lives with that cold burden? Nay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

Though it may be, above the plot
That hid your once imperial clay,
No greener than o'er men forgot
The unregarding grasses sway;
Though there no sweeter is the lay
Of careless bird; though you remain
Without distinction of decay,
The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

No, for while yet in tower or cot
Your story stirs the pulse's play,
And men forget the sordid lot—

The sordid cares-of cities gray;
While yet they grow for homelier fray
More strong from you, as reading plain
That life may go, if Honor stay,
The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

ENVOY

Heroes of old! I humbly lay

The laurel on your graves again; Whatever men have done, men may— The deeds you wrought are not in vain. AUSTIN DOBSON

THE BRAVEST OF THE BRAVE

'MID the flower-wreathed tombs I stand
Bearing lilies in my hand.

Comrades! in what soldier-grave
Sleeps the bravest of the brave?

Is it he who sank to rest

With his colors round his breast?
Friendship makes his tomb a shrine;
Garlands veil it: ask not mine.

One low grave, yon trees beneath,
Bears no roses, wears no wreath;
Yet no heart more high and warm
Ever dared the battle-storm,

Never gleamed a prouder eye
In the front of victory,
Never foot had firmer tread
On the field where hope lay dead,

Than are hid within this tomb
Where the untended grasses bloom,
And no stone, with feigned distress,
Mocks the sacred loneliness.

Youth and beauty, dauntless will,
Dreams that life could ne'er fulfil,
Here lie buried; here in peace
Wrongs and woes have found release.

Turning from my comrades' eyes,
Kneeling where a woman lies,

I strew lilies on the grave

Of the bravest of the brave.

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON

STAND BY THE FLAG

STAND by the Flag! Its stars, like meteors gleaming, Have lighted Arctic icebergs, southern seas,

And shone responsive to the stormy beaming

Of old Acturus and the Pleiades.

Stand by the Flag! Its stripes have streamed in glory,
To foes a fear, to friends a festal robe,

And spread in rhythmic lines the sacred story
Of Freedom's triumphs over all the globe.

Stand by the Flag! On land and ocean billow
By it your fathers stood unmoved and true,
Living, defended; dying, from their pillow,

With their last blessing, passed it on to you.

Stand by the Flag! Immortal heroes bore it Through sulphurous smoke, deep moat and armed defence;

And their imperial Shades shall hover o'er it,

A guard celestial from Omnipotence.

JOHN NICHOLS WILDER