O Pride of the days in prime of the months

    Now trebled in great renown，

    When before the ark of our holy cause

    Fell Dagon down-

    Dagon foredoomed， who， armed and targed，

    Never his impious heart enlarged

    Beyond that hour； God walled his power，

    And there the last invader charged.

    He charged， and in that charge condensed

    His all of hate and all of fire；

    He sought to blast us in his scorn，

    And wither us in his ire.

    Before him went the shriek of shells-

    Aerial screamings， taunts and yells；

    Then the three waves in flashed advance

    Surged， but were met， and back they set：

    Pride was repelled by sterner pride，

    And Right is a strong-hold yet.

    Before our lines it seemed a beach

    Which wild September gales have strown

    With havoc on wreck， and dashed therewith

    Pale crews unknown-

    Men， arms， and steeds. The evening sun

    Died on the face of each lifeless one，

    And died along the winding marge of fight

    And searching-parties lone.

    Sloped on the hill the mounds were green，

    Our centre held that place of graves，

    And some still hold it in their swoon，

    And over these a glory waves.

    The warrior-monument， crashed in fight，

    Shall soar transfigured in loftier light，

    A meaning ampler bear；

    Soldier and priest with hymn and prayer

    Have laid the stone， and every bone

    Shall rest in honor there.