The Knell Shall Sound Once More
I know that the knell shall sound once more,
And the dirge be sung o’er a bloody grave;
And there shall be storm on the beaten shore,
And there shall be strife on the stormy wave;
And we shall wail, with a mighty wail,
And feel the keen sorrow through many years,
But shall not our banner at last prevail,
And our eyes be dried of tears?
There’s a bitter pledge for each fruitful tree,
And the nation whose course is long to run,
Must make, though in anguish still it be,
The tribute of many a noble son;
The roots of each mighty shaft must grow
In the blood-red fountains of mighty hearts;
And to conquer the right from a bloody foe,
Brings a pang as when soul and body parts!
But the blood and the pang are the need, alas!
To strengthen the sovereign will that svrays
The generations that rise, and pass
To the full fruition that crowns their days!
’Tis still in the strife, they must grow to life:
And sorrow shall strengthen the soul for care;
And the freedom sought must ever be bought
By the best blood-offerings, held most dear.
Heroes, the noblest, shall still be first
To mount the red altar of sacrifice;
Homes the most sacred shall fare the worst,
Ere we conquer and win the precious prize!—
The struggle may last for a thousand years,
And only with blood shall the field be bought;
But the sons shall inherit, through blood and tears,
The birth-right for ‘which their old fathers fought.
Charleston Mercury.