Heroes of Peace

There are Braves who bear no banners,
     There are men who dare to die
With only the smile of Duty
     To hold their courage high.
O, not to the stirring bugle,
     Nor roll of the martial drum,—
That might kindle a coward’s valor—
     These gallant heroes come!
But out, — to the dismal tolling—
     To the agonized, iron swing
Of the all-appalling fire-bells,
     With an eager bound they spring!

On the golden heart of the City—
     The City of old renown,—
With her flame-hairwildly streaming
     The Demon of Fire swoops down!
Her maniac flame-tongues screaming
     The doom of our old renown!

In the breath of her terrible anger
     The granite melts like snow,
And the gates of iron shrivel
     Like leaves when the north winds blow.
‘Tis the portal of Hell swing open!
     With the sullen rush and roar
Of its everlasting breakers
     Overflooding their gloomy shore!

Right into the spooming furnace-blast
     To the threat of that howling Hell,
Advanced the dauntless Firemen [??]
     With a courage as ??? ??? ???
While the red ?? ?? over them
     Like the ?? of Gehenna, fell!

All night through the flaming tempest
     In the drift of that roaring wrack
They fought the demon legions
     Of the red-haired Maniac!
In a hand to hand death grapple,
     Though inch by inch born back!

     To the boom of exploding shells,
In the shrieks of woman’s terror
     And Manhood’s frantic yells,
They kept their steady courage;
     They set their lives like a wall
Against the insatiable Ruin
     That came devouring all!
Till the lurid sun through the war-cloud
     Looked don on the sullen foe
As she writhed like a wounded serpent
     In the broken stones coiled, low;
And still she hissed her tongueless wrath
     At the Victor’s parting blow!

But the sobs of a sudden sorrow,
     From every rescued Home
And the deep heart of a grateful Land,—
     A cross that triumph come,—
For the Names o “Here” responds to
     From lips to their roll-call dumb!
For mixed with the crumbled granite
     Is the dust of their crumbled bones,
And only the pitying ear of God
     Has heard their dying groans.

For a thousand Homes, from their own as sweet,
     To Duty they gave their lives,
And left to the tender Human Heart
     Their little ones and wives!
O God! as they fare in our pitiful care
     Shall we, when Thy day arrives!