The Gospel of Peace

Ay, let it rest! And give us peace.
'Tis but another blot
On Freedom's fustian flag, and gold
Will gild the unclean spot.

Yes, fold the hands, and bear the wrong
As Christians over-meek,
And wipe away the bloody stain,
And turn the other cheek.

What boots the loss of freemen's blood
Beside imperilled gold?
Is honor more than merchandise?
And cannot pride be sold?

Let Cuba groan, let patriots fall;
Americans may die;
Our flag may droop in foul disgrace,
But "Peace!" be still our cry.

Ay, give us peace! And give us truth
To nature, to resign
The counterfeit which Freedom wears
Upon her banner fine.

Remove the Stars,--they light our shame;
But keep the Stripes of gore
And craven White, to tell the wrong
A prudent nation bore.