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Poems Every Child Should Know

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<h3>Warren's Address to the American Soldiers.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">There is never a boy who objects to learning "Warren's Address," by John Pierpont (1785-1866). To stand by one's own rights is inherent in every true American. This poem is doubtless developed from Robert Burns's "Bannockburn." (1785-1866.) </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Stand! the ground's your own, my braves! Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still? What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in that battle-peal! Read it on yon bristling steel! Ask it,—ye who will. </div> <div class="stanza"> Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Will ye to your homes retire? Look behind you! they're afire! And, before you, see Who have done it!—From the vale On they come!—And will ye quail?— Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be! </div> <div class="stanza"> In the God of battles trust! Die we may,—and die we must; But, O, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well, As where Heaven its dews shall shed On the martyred patriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell! </div> </td></tr></table> John Pierpont. <h3>The Song in Camp.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"The Song in Camp" is Bayard Taylor's best effort as far as young boys and girls are concerned. It is a most valuable poem. I once heard a clergyman in Chicago use it as a text for his sermon. Since then "Annie Laurie" has become the song of the Labour party. "The Song in Camp" voices a universal feeling. (1825-78.) </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camps allied Grew weary of bombarding. </div> <div class="stanza"> The dark Redan, in silent scoff, Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder. </div> <div class="stanza"> There was a pause. A guardsman said, "We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow." </div> <div class="stanza"> They lay along the battery's side, Below the smoking cannon: Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon. </div> <div class="stanza"> They sang of love, and not of fame; Forgot was Britain's glory: Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang "Annie Laurie." </div> <div class="stanza"> Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,— Their battle-eve confession. </div> <div class="stanza"> Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, But, as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder. </div> <div class="stanza"> Beyond the darkening ocean burned The bloody sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned How English love remembers. </div> <div class="stanza"> And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot, and burst of shell, And bellowing of the mortars! </div> <div class="stanza"> And Irish Nora's eyes are dim For a singer, dumb and gory; And English Mary mourns for him Who sang of "Annie Laurie." </div> <div class="stanza"> Sleep, soldiers! still in honoured rest Your truth and valour wearing: The bravest are the tenderest,— The loving are the daring. </div> </td></tr></table> Bayard Taylor. <h3>The Bugle Song</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"The Bugle Song" (by Alfred Tennyson, 1809-90), says Heydrick, "has for its central theme the undying power of human love. The music is notable for sweetness and delicacy." </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. </div> <div class="stanza"> O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. </div> <div class="stanza"> O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. </div> </td></tr></table> Alfred Tennyson. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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