Shall not the night disgorge

The ghosts of Bunker Hill

The ghosts of Valley Forge,

[26]Or, England's mightiest son,

[26]

The ghost of Washington?

No ghosts where Lincoln fell?

No ghosts for seeing eyes?

I know an old cracked bell

Shall make ten million rise

When one immortal ghost

Calls to the slumbering host.

 [27]THE OLD MEETING HOUSE

[27]

(New Jersey, 1918)

ITS quiet graves were made for peace till Gabriel blows his horn.

I

Those wise old elms could hear no cry

Of all that distant agony—

Only the red-winged blackbird, and the rustle of thick ripe corn.

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