TO THE STANDISH GUARDS OF THE OLD COLONY.

New England’s old three-cornered hat still guards this ancient town, The men who followed Lafayette are marching up and down. The spirit born at Lexington, and all the men are here, With fife and drum, and here they come, and each a brigadier! The heirs of Freedom ne’er broke ranks, or failed to face the brunt, In every fight for righteousness our men are at the front; In every battle fought for peace the past and future meet, And grenadiers and cavaliers still flank each home and street. The covenants our fathers made forever move in rhyme, They’ve never found the Port of Rest; the iron tongues of Time Are bugling men to saddle, and comrades, side by side, From Gettysburg to Flanders join in a dusty ride! And here they come! and there they come! The farmer and the knight, And dead men, shouting—“load and fire!” from parapets of light. And every one a mother’s son, the khaki, and the gold, Old Glory prancing on ahead, a shout in every fold! In every star a mother’s prayer, in every stripe is found A country’s solace for the slain to wrap him, ’round and ’round. March on, and let your scabbards swing, your swords shall never rust; Ride! Ride! ye belted horsemen! the sacrificial trust Of bygone days is haloed by bayonet and scroll, Where millions read a simple creed that binds a nation’s soul. High on the walls of Heaven it crowns a lifting sky; Hats off! ye peoples of the earth, America goes by! Written on the return of the Plymouth Boys from the World War.