FAVOURITE POETRY: THE TRAILING BANNER

THE TRAILING BANNER
J.A. RYAN

Take that banner down! 'tis weary, 
round its staff 'tis drooping dreary, 

Furl it, fold it, let it rest ; 
For there's not a man to wave it, 
For there's not a sword to save it, 
And there's not a hand to lave it 
In the blood that heroes gave it. 
And its foes now scorn and brave it. 

Furl it, hide it, let it rest. 

Take that banner down ! 'tis tattered ; 
Broken is its staff and shattered, 
And the valiant hosts are scattered 

Over whom it fluttered high. 
Oh, 'tis hard for us to fold it! 
Hard to think there's none to hold it; 
Hard, for those who once unrolled it 

Now must furl it with a sigh. 

Furl that banner — furl it sadly; 
Once six millions hailed it gladly. 
And ten thousand wildly, madly 

Swore it should forever wave. 
Swore that foemen's swords should never 
Hearts like theirs intwined dissever. 
And that flag should float forever 

O'er their freedom or their grave. 

Furl that banner softly, slowly; 
Furl it gently; it is holy, 

For it droops above the dead ; 
Touch it not — unfurl it never, 
Let it droop there, furled forever. 
For its people's hopes are fled. 
Furl it, for the hands that grasped it 
And the hearts that fondly clasped it 
Cold and dead are lying low ; 
And that banner — it is trailing. 
While around it sounds the wailing 

Of its people in their woe. 

For though conquered they adore it, 
Love the cold, dead hands that bore it. 
Weep for those who fell before it. 
Pardon those who trailed and tore it; 
Oh, how wildly they deplore it 
Now to furl and fold it so. 

Furl that banner ! True, 'tis gory. 
But 'tis wreathed around with glory. 
And 'twill live in song and story 

Though its folds are in the dust; 
For its fame, on brightest pages. 
Penned by poets and by sages, 
Shall go sounding down the ages. 

Furl its folds, for now we must.