Honor's.

Pyle, The Nation Makers, 1903

The BATTLE of LOVELL'S POND

Cold, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast

That sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast,

As it moans through the tall waving pines lone and drear,

Sighs a requiem sad o'er the warrior's bier.

The war-whoop is still, and the savage's yell

Has sunk into silence along the wild dell;

The din of the battle, the tumult, is o'er,

And the war-clarion's voice is now heard no more.

The warriors that fought for their country, and bled,

Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed;

No stone tells the place where their ashes repose,

Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes.

They died in their glory, surrounded by fame,

And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim;

They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast,

And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow