Francis William Lauderdale Adams(27 September 1862 - 4 September 1893)
- by Francis William Lauderdale Adams120
WHO is it speaks of defeat? — I tell you a Cause like ours Is greater than defeat can know; It is the power of powers! As surely as the earth rolls round, As surely as the glorious sun Follows the great world moon-wave, Must our Cause be won! What is defeat to us? — Learn what a skirmish tells, While the great Army marches on To storm earth's Hells!
- by Francis William Lauderdale Adams75
WHEN day's hard task's done, Eve's scant meal partaken, Out we steal each one, Weariless, unshaken. In small reeking squares, Garbaged plots, we gather, Little knots and pairs, Brother, sister, father. Then the Word is given. In their silent places Under lowering heaven, Range our stern-set faces. Now we march and wheel In our clumsy line, Shouldering sticks for steel, Thoughts bitter as brine! Drill, drill, drill, and drill! It is only thus Conquer yet we will Those who've conquered us. Patience, sisters, mothers! We must not forget Foiled dead fathers, brothers; They must teach us yet. In that Hour we see, The Hour of our Desire, What shall their slayers be? As the stubble to the fire!
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