Four stormy years we saw it gleam,
A people's hope…and then refurled,
Even while its glory was the theme
...
Why are we forever speaking
Of the warriors of old?
Men are fighting all around us,
Full as noble, full as bold.
...
First in the fight, and first in the arms
Of the white-winged angels of glory,
With the heart of the South at the feet of God,
...
We are gathered here a feeble few
Of those who wore the gray-
The larger and the better part
Have mingled with the clay:
...
Not 'mid the lightning of the stormy fight,
Not in the rush upon the vandal foes,
Did kingly Death, with his resistless might,
...
The Confederate Flag
Four stormy years we saw it gleam,
A people's hope…and then refurled,
Even while its glory was the theme
Of half the world.
A beacon that with streaming ray
Dazzled a struggling nation's sight-
Seeming a pillar of cloud by day,
Of fire by night.
They jeer who trembled as it hung,
Comet-like blazoning the sky-
And heroes, such as Homer sung,
Followed it to die.
It fell…but stainless as it rose,
Martyred, like Stephen, in the strife-
Passing, like him, girdled with foes,
From Death to Life.
Flame's trophy! Sanctified with tears-
Planted forever at her portal;
Folded, true: What then? Four short years
Made it immortal!