POLK.

By H. L. Flash.

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.

“A flash from the edge of a hostile trench.”

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.