As on the summer Sabbath that saw the roll O'er Monmouth's fields the sulphurous battle murk, Down from its grassy, grave-engirdled knoll Looks Tennent's ancient kirk. They smote and open flung yon very door To bear the wounded from the sanguine flood; Still show -- ah, glorious baptism -- on the floor Grim stains of patriot blood! Along that undulant highway Washington Rode up, the panic and defeat to quell; Beyond that slope-crest where the cattle run Is brave Moll Pitcher's well! Again we see it all as here we stand, The bitter travail and the strife profound; To us whose birthright is this noble land This spot is hallowed ground. |