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| | From: Jreb1861 (Original Message) | Sent: 8/27/2008 7:17 PM |
Anonymous I know the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing, And the summer sends kisses by beautiful May -- Oh! to see all the treasures the spring is bestowing, And think my boy Willie enlisted today. It seems but a day since at twilight, low humming, I rocked him to sleep with his cheek upon mine, While Robby, the four-year old, watched for the coming Of father, adown the street's indistinct line. It is many a year since my Harry departed, To come back no more in the twilight or dawn: And Robby grew weary of watching, and started Alone on the journey his father had gone. It is many a year -- and this afternoon sitting At Robby's old window, I heard the band play, And suddenly ceased dreaming over my knitting, To recollect Willie is twenty today. And that, standing beside him this soft May-day morning, And the sun making gold of his wreathed cigar smoke, I saw in his sweet eyes and lips a faint warning, And choked down the tears when he eagerly spoke: "Dear mother, you know how these Northmen are crowing, They would trample the rights of the South in the dust, The boys are all fire; and they wish I were going --" He stopped, but his eyes said. "Oh, say if I must!" I smiled on the boy, though my heart it seemed breaking, My eyes filled with tears, so I turned them away, And answered him, "Willie, 'tis well you are waking -- Go, act as your father would bid you, today!" I sit in the window, and see the flags flying, And drearily list to the roll of the drum, And smother the pain in my heart that is lying And bid all the fears in my bosom be dumb. I shall sit in the window when summer is lying Out over the fields, and the honey-bee's hum Lulls the rose at the porch from her tremulous sighing, And watch for the face of my darling to come. And if he should fall --his young life he has given For freedom's sweet sake; and for me, I will pray Once more with my Harry and Robby in Heaven To meet the dear boy who enlisted today. |
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MARCH OF THE DEATHLESS DEAD Father Abram Joseph Ryan Gather the sacred dust Of the warriors tried and true, Who bore the flag of a Nation's trust And fell in a cause, though lost, still just, and died for me and you . Gather them one and all, From the private to the chief; Come they from hovel or princely hall, They fell for us, and for them should fall The tears of a Nation's grief Gather the corpses strewn O'er many a battle plain; From many a grave that lies so lone, Without a name and without a stone, Gather the Southern slain. We care not whence they came, Dear in their lifeless clay! Whether unknown, or known to fame, Their cause and country still the same; They died and wore the Gray. Wherever the brave have died, They should not rest apart; Living, they struggled side by side, Why should the hand of Death divide A single heart from heart? Gather their scattered clay, Wherever it may rest; Just as they marched to the bloody fray, Just as they fell on the battle day, Bury them breast to breast. The foeman need not dread This gathering of the brave; Without sword or flag, and with soundless tread, We muster once more our deathless dead, Out of each lonely grave. The foeman need not frown, They all are powerless now; We gather them here and we lay them down, And tears and prayers are the only crown We bring to wreathe each brow. And the dead thus meet the dead, While the living o'er them weep; And the men by Lee and Stonewall led, And the hearts that once together bled, Together still shall sleep. |
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Jreb, Thanks for sharing, two beautiful poems, with us. Teresa |
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ONLY A SOLDIER'S GRAVE By S.A. Jones Only a soldier's grave! Pass by, For soldiers, like other mortals, die. Parents had he they are far away; No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay; No brother comes, with tearful eye; It's only a soldier's grave pass by. True, he was loving, and young, and brave, Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave; No proud recital of virtues known, Of griefs endured, or triumphs won; No tablet of marble, or obelisk high; Only a soldier's grave: pass by. Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight, And he gave his life in the cause of right! When his hope was high, and his youthful dream As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream; His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh; Yet, 'tis only a soldier's grave: pass by. Yet, we should mark it the soldier's grave, Some one may seek him in hope to save! Some of the dear ones, far away, Would bear him home to his native clay: 'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh, Find not the hillock, and pass him by. PRISON BARS Though Prison Bars my Freedom mars, and Glittering Bayonets Guard me round, My Rebel soul Scorns such Control, and Dwells with Friends on Southern Ground. My Heart is Light, and Spirits Bright, and Hope, with Her Enchanting Wand, Gives Visions Fair: and Free as Air, I Roam at Will in Dixie's Land. |
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