Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem

<small>AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER</small>
{{smallcaps|When}} the dying flame of day

Liturgical setting

The poem opens in a Catholic or High Church space—chancel, altar, censer, tapers. This isn't accident: Longfellow is using sacred ritual language to elevate a military banner, blurring the line between religious and martial devotion.

Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowlèd head;
And the censer burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung
The crimson banner, that with prayer
Had been consecrated there.
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,

The nuns sing, not priests

Women's voices consecrate the banner, not clergy. The Moravian nuns are positioned as moral authorities—their mercy and prayer matter more than military blessing. This is deliberate casting.

Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.
"Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale,
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
"Take thy banner! and, beneath
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it, till our homes are free!
Guard it! God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
"Take thy banner! But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,

Conditional mercy clause

The third stanza shifts the hymn's focus from victory to *restraint*. 'Spare him!' repeated three times—the nuns are extracting a promise of humanity from the warrior. This is the poem's moral center.

If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him! By our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,
Spare him! he our love hath shared!
Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared!
"Take thy banner! and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be

Prophecy becomes epitaph

The final stanza predicts the banner will become a 'martial cloak and shroud.' The last two lines confirm it happened—the warrior died. The poem isn't celebrating victory; it's mourning the cost.

Martial cloak and shroud for thee."
The warrior took that banner proud,

The banner's double duty

'Cloak and shroud' uses the same object for both protection and burial. This isn't poetic excess—it's the poem's argument that war wraps soldiers in both glory and death simultaneously.

And it was his martial cloak and shroud!
Source Wikipedia Poetry Foundation

Reading Notes

The historical occasion and Longfellow's strategy

CONTEXT This poem commemorates the consecration of Casimir Pulaski's banner during the American Revolution. Pulaski was a Polish cavalry officer who died in the war. Longfellow wrote this in 1883, well after the Civil War, when Americans were still processing military sacrifice.

Longfellow doesn't write a triumphalist war poem. Instead, he frames the banner's blessing through the voices of Moravian nuns—a Christian pacifist sect known for their commitment to peace and mercy. This choice is strategic: by letting women's voices dominate the poem, and specifically voices committed to restraint, Longfellow makes the moral argument *more* powerful than any patriotic rhetoric could be. The nuns don't forbid the warrior from fighting; they make him promise mercy. That's a different kind of strength.

The turning point: mercy over victory

The first two stanzas of the hymn ask for blessing and protection—standard war prayer language. But in stanza three, the tone shifts completely. Instead of 'may you win,' the nuns sing 'spare the vanquished.' They invoke 'our holy vow,' 'our prayers and many tears,' and 'mercy'—not military virtues.

The final two lines of the poem deliver the gut-punch: 'And it was his martial cloak and shroud!' The banner became exactly what the nuns predicted—a burial cloth. Longfellow's point isn't that Pulaski died heroically. It's that the nuns' prayer was fulfilled literally: the flag that was supposed to protect him ended up covering his body. The poem is an elegy disguised as a hymn, and its moral lesson is that war consumes even the brave, which is why mercy matters.