Gather the harvest though reaped in death, Under the pale, pale moon; For the lilies that joyed in the breath of morn Shall know not the ardor of noon: So, the souls that grow strong, in patriot love,...
What shall the coming year bring forth, O Lord, who rulest the land? For the navies of the sea and air Are but stubble in Thy hand. The battalions in the field go forth; They arm in mighty line;...