Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ESSEX REGIMENT MARCH, by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ESSEX REGIMENT MARCH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Once more the flower of essex is marching
Last Line: We march, we sail, whoever fail, the flower of essex goes.
Subject(s): Spanish-american War (1898)


WRITTEN FOR THE EIGHTH MASSACHUSETTS UNITED STATES
VOLUNTEER INFANTRY IN THE SPANISH WAR

ONCE more the Flower of Essex is marching to the wars;
We are up to serve the Country wherever fly her Stars;
Ashore, afloat, or far or near, to her who bore us true,
We will do a freeman's duty as we were born to do.
Lead the van, and may we lead it,
God of armies, till the wrong shall cease;
Speed the war, and may we speed it
To the sweet home-coming, God of peace!

Our fathers fought their battles, and conquered for the right,
Three hundred years victorious from every stubborn fight;
And still the Flower of Essex from the ancient stock puts forth,
Where the bracing blue sea-water strings the sinews of the North.

The foe on field, the foe on deck to us is all the same;
With both the Flower of Essex has played a winning game;
We threw them on the village green, we cowed them in Algiers,
And ship to ship we shocked them in our first great naval years.

We rowed the Great Commander o'er the ice-bound Delaware,
When the Christmas snow was falling in the dark and wintry air;
And still the Flower of Essex, like the heroes gone before,
Where the tide of danger surges shall take the laboring oar.

The Flower that first lay bleeding along by Bloody Brook
Full oft hath Death upgathered in war's red reaping-hook;
Its home is on our headlands; 't is sweeter than the rose;
But sweetest in the battle's breath the Flower of Essex blows.

At the best a dear home-coming, at the worst a soldier's grave,
Beating the tropic jungle, ploughing the dark blue wave;
But while the Flower of Essex from the granite rock shall come,
None but the dead shall cease to fight till all go marching home.

March onward to the leaguer wherever it may lie;
The Colors make the Country whatever be the sky;
Where round the Flag of Glory the storm terrific blows,
We march, we sail, whoever fail, the Flower of Essex goes.





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