Long had the good land lain in the sun and the rain, with its ridges, Rich broad fields for the farmer, and hills dark-fledged with the forests; Yet was the end ordained of the old earth’s writhing and travail Neither the breathing beauty of grainfields, nor wealth of the harvest, Neither the brooding charm of the wood, nor the trees for the builder; Not for these was the earth-pang; for Pain, for Pain sacrificial Offered to God; for the altar whereon Man blindly or wisely Laid, for the Faith that was in him, his body born of a woman, Laid, in his passion of service, the life of his own blood-brother,-- Even for that Altar august had the ridges and hills from aforetime Waited, elect. So of old, under Syrian azure, and burning Stars of that ancient land, grew a great Tree, branched like another; Soared to its height, and waited, elect for the Cross of all crosses. Now was arrived the hour, and the stern supreme dedication, Sealing the brow of the land for the Place of the Battle of Battles. II Twice had the sun gone down on the conflict as yet undetermined. Two fierce days were done, and the marred earth cumbered with horror, Horror of soulless pain of the beasts that perish unknowing, Horror of human ruin, the shattered sheaths of the spirit, Horror men pray to forget, and the tongue refuses to tell it. Two proud days were done, that shall shine with the splendors of valor Out of the night of the past, and live with the life of the nation: Splendors that crowd like stars--how the names press faster and faster! Splendors that melt like stars in the milkwhite highway of heaven, Fame without name, and the deeds remembered of doers forgotten. Two strange days were done; for Fate on the echoing anvil, Clashing with blow upon blow, had fashioned a strength out of failure, Craftily forging in fire and clangor the Line of the Union, Battle-line hard to break. It was curved like the hook of the fisher, Rough Culp’s Hill the barb, and the Hill of the Graves was the curving; Straight as a shaft it stretched to the tawny stream at the southward,-- Running then red,--and the rocks of the rude-piled Den of the Devil, Round-Top the Less, and the flank of the Greater, fledged with the forest, Fortresses fit for the Left. So the Line had been forged out of failure, Battle-line hard to break.