San Francisco

San Francisco.
6.7

Immersed in golden shadows
At the close of a busy day,
Thy hills and vales St. Francis,
In peace and quiet lay.
Clothed in the folds of slumber,
Fair Morpheus reigned supreme
Unconscious of death and destruction
Thy portion unwritten, unseen
.
Rude the cruel awakening
Ye pride and nations boast;
Out from the vale of slumber
To his command “Return thou to dust.”
Thy head on thy hard broken pillars.
We share with hearts rent with pain.
Courage, sweet sister Dauntless,
Thy guidance we crave again.

Thy trust by the nation given,
Has been kept, aye a thousand fold,
Never thy sentries found sleeping;
Thou guard at the Gate of Gold.
Thy palaces in past days builded,
By grander thou canst but replace,
Thy perseverance, patience and labor
Is honored where naught can erase
.
Stand firm! Ye sons of a nation
Whose grandeur was bought through strife
Our Fathers’ blood on the battlefield
Was shed that we might have life.
The battle you wage on the morrow,
The records of time will show:
And know as you toll mid the ashes,
The nation is with you now.
By Frank E. Brandon