1775. <br /> <br />No Berserk thirst of blood had they, <br />No battle-joy was theirs, who set <br />Against the alien bayonet <br />Their homespun breasts in that old day. <br /> <br />Their feet had trodden peaceful, ways; <br />They loved not strife, they dreaded pain; <br />They saw not, what to us is plain, <br />That God would make man's wrath his praise. <br /> <br />No seers were they, but simple men; <br />Its vast results the future hid <br />The meaning of the work they did <br />Was strange and dark and doubtful then. <br /> <br />Swift as their summons came they left <br />The plough mid-furrow standing still, <br />The half-ground corn grist in the mill, <br />The spade in earth, the axe in cleft. <br /> <br />They went where duty seemed to call, <br />They scarcely asked the reason why; <br />They only knew they could but die, <br />And death was not the worst of all! <br /> <br />Of man for man the sacrifice, <br />All that was theirs to give, they gave. <br />The flowers that blossomed from their grave <br />Have sown themselves beneath all skies. <br /> <br />Their death-shot shook the feudal tower, <br />And shattered slavery's chain as well; <br />On the sky's dome, as on a bell, <br />Its echo struck the world's great hour. <br /> <br />That fateful echo is not dumb <br />The nations listening to its sound <br />Wait, from a century's vantage-ground, <br />The holier triumphs yet to come,-- <br /> <br />The bridal time of Law and Love, <br />The gladness of the world's release, <br />When, war-sick, at the feet of Peace <br />The hawk shall nestle with the dove!-- <br /> <br />The golden age of brotherhood <br />Unknown to other rivalries <br />Than of the mild humanities, <br />And gracious interchange of good, <br /> <br />When closer strand shall lean to strand, <br />Till meet, beneath saluting flags, <br />The eagle of our mountain-crags, <br />The lion of our Motherland!<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lexington/
