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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=353985" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Banner Of The Covenanters</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">HERE, where the rain-drops may not fall, the sunshine doth not play, <br>Where the unfelt and distant breeze in whispers dies away; <br>Here, where the stranger paces slow along the silent halls, <br>Why mutely art thou hanging thus against the massive walls? <br>Thou, that hast seen blood shed for thee--that midst the battle-tide <br>Hast faintly lit the soldier's eye with triumph ere he died; <br>Bright banner, which hath witness'd oft the struggles of the free, <br>Emblem of proud and holy hope, is this a place for thee? <br>II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wake! wave aloft, thou Banner! let every snowy fold <br>Float on our wild, unconquer'd hills, as in the days of old: <br>Hang out, and give again to Death a glory and a charm, <br>Where Heaven's pure dew may freshen thee, and Heaven's pure sunshine warm. <br>Wake, wave aloft! <br>I hear the silk low rustling on the breeze, <br>Which whistles through the lofty fir, and bends the birchen trees; <br>I hear the tread of warriors arm'd to conquer or to die; <br>Their bed or bier the heathery hill, their canopy the sky. <br>III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What, what is life or death to them? they only feel and know <br>Freedom is to be struggled for, with an unworthy foe-- <br>Their homes--their hearths--the all for which their fathers, too, have fought, <br>And liberty to breathe the prayers their cradled lips were taught. <br>On, on they rush--like mounitain streams resistlessly they sweep-- <br>On! those who live are heroes now--and martyrs those who sleep! <br>While still the snow-white Banner waves above the field of strife, <br>With a proud triumph, as it were a thing of soul and life. <br>IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They stand--they bleed--they fall! they make one brief and breathless pause, <br>And gaze with fading eyes upon the standard of their cause;-- <br>Again they brave the strife of death, again each weary limb <br>Faintly obeys the warrior soul, tho' earth's best hopes grow dim;-- <br>The mountain-rills are red with blood, the pure and quiet sky <br>Rings with the shouts of those who win, the groans of those who die; <br>Taken--re-taken--raised again, but soil'd with clay and gore, <br>Heavily, on the wild free breeze, that Banner floats once more. <br>V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear the wail of women now: the dreadful day is done: <br>God's creatures wait to strive and slay until to-morrow's sun: <br>I hear the heavy breathing of the weary ones who sleep, <br>The death-sob and the dying word, 'the voice of them that weep;' <br>The half-choked grief of those who, while they stifle back their breath, <br>Scarce know if what they watch be hush'd in slumber or in death; <br>While mournfully, as if it knew and felt for their despair, <br>The moon-lit Banner flaps and falls upon the midnight air. <br>VI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Morning! the glad and glorious light! the waking of God's earth, <br>Which rouses men to stan with gore the soil that gave them birth. <br>In the still sunshine sleeps the hill, the stream, the distant town; <br>In the still sunshine--clogg'd and stiff--the battle-flag hangs down. <br>Peace is in Heaven, and Heaven's good gifts, but war is amongst men-- <br>Red blood is pouring on the hill, wild shouts are in the glen; <br>'T is past--they sink, they bleed, they fly--that faint, enfeebled host, <br>Right is not might--the Banner-flag, the victory, are lost! <br>VII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heaven's dew hath drunk the crimson drops which on the heather lay, <br>The rills that were so red with gore, go sparkling on their way; <br>The limbs that fought, the hearts that swell'd, are crumbled into dust, <br>The souls which strove are gone to meet the spirits of the just; <br>But that frail silken flag, for which, and under which, they fought, <br>(And which e'en now retains its power upon the soul of thought,) <br>Survives--a tatter'd, senseless thing--to meet the curious eye, <br>And wake a momentary dream of hopes and days gone by. <br>VIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A momentary dream! oh! not for one poor transient hour, <br>Not for a brief and hurried day that flag exerts its power; <br>Full flashing on our dormant souls the firm conviction comes, <br>That what our fathers did for theirs, we could for our homes. <br>We, too, could brave the giant arm that seeks to chain each word, <br>And rule what form of prayer alone shall by our God be heard: <br>We, too, in triumph or defeat, could drain our heart's best veins, <br>While the good old cause of Liberty for Church and State remains!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Caroline+Elizabeth+Sarah+Norton">Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton</a><div class=q>
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HERE, where the rain-drops may not fall, the sunshine doth not play, 
Where the unfelt and distant breeze in whispers dies away; 
Here, where the stranger paces slow along the silent halls, 
Why mutely art thou hanging thus against the massive..."></div>
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