THE BATTLE OF LIFE.
13
THE BATTLE OF LIFE.
There are countless fields the green earth o’er,
Where the verdant turf has been dyed with gore;
Where hostile ranks in their grim array,
With the battle’s smoke have obscured the day;
Where hate was stamped on each rigid face
As foe met foe in the death embrace;
Where the groans of the wounded and dying rose,
Till the heart of the listener with horror froze,
And the wide expanse of the crimsoned plain
Was piled with its heaps of uncounted slain:—
But a fiercer combat, a deadlier strife,
Is that which is waged in the Battle of Life.
Where the verdant turf has been dyed with gore;
Where hostile ranks in their grim array,
With the battle’s smoke have obscured the day;
Where hate was stamped on each rigid face
As foe met foe in the death embrace;
Where the groans of the wounded and dying rose,
Till the heart of the listener with horror froze,
And the wide expanse of the crimsoned plain
Was piled with its heaps of uncounted slain:—
But a fiercer combat, a deadlier strife,
Is that which is waged in the Battle of Life.
The hero that wars on the tented field,
With his shining sword and his burnished shield,
Goes not alone with his faithful brand,
Friends and comrades around him stand;
The trumpets sound and the war-steeds neigh,
To join in the shock of the coming fray,
With his shining sword and his burnished shield,
Goes not alone with his faithful brand,
Friends and comrades around him stand;
The trumpets sound and the war-steeds neigh,
To join in the shock of the coming fray,
