Polk

A flash from the edge of a hostile trench,
A puff of smoke, a roar,
Whose echo shall roll from Kennesaw hills,
To the farthermost Christian shore,
Proclaim to the world that the warrior-priest
Will battle for right no more.

And that for a cause which is sanctified,
By the blood of martyrs unknown--
A cause for which they gave their lives,
And for which he gave his own--
He kneels, a meek ambassador,
At the foot of the Father's throne.

And up to the courts of another world,
That angels alone have trod,
He lives away from the din and strife
Of this blood-besprinkled sod--
Crowned with the amaranthine wreath,
That is worn by the blest of God.