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OUR GUESTS UNSEEN.
Who are the guests in this festal throng?
Many are here that we love and see:
Men who have heard the soprano song
Of flying bullets that death set free;
Men who left a part of their days
Off in the field where the blood stains are;
Men who had dropped the sweet home-ways
Out of their hands, to grasp a star.
Honor to those who are living yet!
Time shall their laurels make more green!
But at this hour we must not forget
Those we may call our guests unseen.
Many are here that we love and see:
Men who have heard the soprano song
Of flying bullets that death set free;
Men who left a part of their days
Off in the field where the blood stains are;
Men who had dropped the sweet home-ways
Out of their hands, to grasp a star.
Honor to those who are living yet!
Time shall their laurels make more green!
But at this hour we must not forget
Those we may call our guests unseen.
One is here whose piercing eyes
Sharpened young for his country's sake;
Craving more than ambition's prize—
Great with the plans that brave men make.
Once he saw the flag of the foe
Mocking a history-hallowed town:
He said, “That banner must be brought low—
I will go myself and haul it down!”
He climbed the dangerous, giddy stair—
He braved the ambushes that he passed;
He did not send, but himself went there,
And stripped the flag from the rebel mast.
His dark eyes flashed in the morning dawn,
But he fell by a foeman's treacherous crime;
His heart stopped there, but his soul went on,
And joined the bravest of every clime.
His body sank to untimely rest—
The glory he sought was snatched away;
But we know that he did his noblest best,
And gallant Ellsworth is here to-day!
Sharpened young for his country's sake;
Craving more than ambition's prize—
Great with the plans that brave men make.
Once he saw the flag of the foe
Mocking a history-hallowed town:
He said, “That banner must be brought low—
I will go myself and haul it down!”
He climbed the dangerous, giddy stair—
He braved the ambushes that he passed;
He did not send, but himself went there,
And stripped the flag from the rebel mast.
His dark eyes flashed in the morning dawn,
But he fell by a foeman's treacherous crime;
His heart stopped there, but his soul went on,
And joined the bravest of every clime.
His body sank to untimely rest—
The glory he sought was snatched away;
But we know that he did his noblest best,
And gallant Ellsworth is here to-day!
Comes another: so bravely rash,
And rashly brave, yet steady still;
Turbulent as the thunder's crash,
But firm as the rocks of an Eastern hill.
And through the valleys and o'er the plain,
The drum of his horsemen's hoof-beats rolled;
Death knew the pull of his bridle rein,
And victory gleamed from his locks of gold.
He fought till the Union sky was bright,
Then flashed his sword in a western sun;
He fell in civilization's fight,
And died ere half of his days were done.
He camps in the broad blue fields above;
He needs no laurels upon his brow;
He comes once more for his comrades' love,
And dashing Custer is with us now!
And rashly brave, yet steady still;
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But firm as the rocks of an Eastern hill.
And through the valleys and o'er the plain,
The drum of his horsemen's hoof-beats rolled;
Death knew the pull of his bridle rein,
And victory gleamed from his locks of gold.
He fought till the Union sky was bright,
Then flashed his sword in a western sun;
He fell in civilization's fight,
And died ere half of his days were done.
He camps in the broad blue fields above;
He needs no laurels upon his brow;
He comes once more for his comrades' love,
And dashing Custer is with us now!
Another: a silent, mighty soul,
Who rose from the plane of common things,
To half of the fighting world's control,
And starred in the list of Triumph's kings.
When humbly toiling for daily bread,
When soothed by Luxury's rich caress,
When measuring acres of hapless dead,
Or flushed with the giddy draught, success;
Striving in blood-red clouds of woe
To lead the land 'neath victory's sun,
Or taking the sword of a fallen foe,
And writing the great words, “War is done;”
Or ruling the marble halls of state,
Thrust far to the statesman's utmost goal,
Or ruined by those he found too late
Were friends of his purse and not his soul;
Or toiling on Mount McGregor's height,
Longing for days that would let him die,
Waging meanwhile a sturdy fight
Whenever the foe Despair came nigh;
From earliest life to latest breath,
Through valleys of woe, o'er hills of pride,
Through glories of life and glooms of death,
His heart and his brain marched side by side.
The Hudson's shore has his death-stilled heart;
His hands in that hermit-tomb may rest;
But heroes and graves dwell far apart,
And Grant to-day is our unseen guest!
Who rose from the plane of common things,
To half of the fighting world's control,
And starred in the list of Triumph's kings.
When humbly toiling for daily bread,
When soothed by Luxury's rich caress,
When measuring acres of hapless dead,
Or flushed with the giddy draught, success;
Striving in blood-red clouds of woe
To lead the land 'neath victory's sun,
Or taking the sword of a fallen foe,
And writing the great words, “War is done;”
Or ruling the marble halls of state,
Thrust far to the statesman's utmost goal,
Or ruined by those he found too late
Were friends of his purse and not his soul;
Or toiling on Mount McGregor's height,
Longing for days that would let him die,
Waging meanwhile a sturdy fight
Whenever the foe Despair came nigh;
From earliest life to latest breath,
Through valleys of woe, o'er hills of pride,
Through glories of life and glooms of death,
His heart and his brain marched side by side.
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His hands in that hermit-tomb may rest;
But heroes and graves dwell far apart,
And Grant to-day is our unseen guest!
Another: a lithe, commanding form,
Kind features, stern with a soldier-gaze:
A cliff of rock in a battle storm,
A garden of smiles in peaceful days.
He burned belligerent cities low,
He planted ruin on every side,
But offered love to a fallen foe,
And wept when his friend McPherson died,
He shaped his army into a sword,
And cut the enemy's land in twain,
Yet gave the conquered their kindest word,
And erred, if ever, to spare them pain.
The office-heroes who fought for place,
Strove hard to fetter him with their pelf;
But he fought for his country and his race,
And not for jewels to crown himself.
In times of peace it was his to be
The foremost gentleman of the land;
Death has no power o'er such as he,
So reach for the brave old Sherman's hand!
Kind features, stern with a soldier-gaze:
A cliff of rock in a battle storm,
A garden of smiles in peaceful days.
He burned belligerent cities low,
He planted ruin on every side,
But offered love to a fallen foe,
And wept when his friend McPherson died,
He shaped his army into a sword,
And cut the enemy's land in twain,
Yet gave the conquered their kindest word,
And erred, if ever, to spare them pain.
The office-heroes who fought for place,
Strove hard to fetter him with their pelf;
But he fought for his country and his race,
And not for jewels to crown himself.
In times of peace it was his to be
The foremost gentleman of the land;
Death has no power o'er such as he,
So reach for the brave old Sherman's hand!
Another: a sturdy Irish heart,
That gave to this land its life-long aid;
The rush of the whirlwind sped his dart,
The flash of the lightning fired his blade.
He swore like a trooper, but what he swore
Was never known to fall or fail;
His oaths in The Book may be blotted o'er,
For he sinned that God's cause might prevail.
Once freedom's ranks were melting away;
He moulded panics to victory, then,
Rode down disaster and saved the day;—
He was good as a hundred thousand men!
His iron heart lies 'neath sods of green,
His shoulder-stars have been hung away;
But he rides on lofty roads unseen,
And Sheridan's soul is here to-day!
That gave to this land its life-long aid;
The rush of the whirlwind sped his dart,
The flash of the lightning fired his blade.
He swore like a trooper, but what he swore
Was never known to fall or fail;
His oaths in The Book may be blotted o'er,
For he sinned that God's cause might prevail.
Once freedom's ranks were melting away;
He moulded panics to victory, then,
Rode down disaster and saved the day;—
He was good as a hundred thousand men!
His iron heart lies 'neath sods of green,
His shoulder-stars have been hung away;
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And Sheridan's soul is here to-day!
Another: a tall and sinewy form,
A face marked deep with the lines of care;
A will of iron, but a heart as warm
As fiery breeze of the tropic air.
He was born a prince, but in hovels cast—
He made the cabin a palace, then;
He grew to be more than a king, at last;
For monarchs, you know, are not always men.
His fight for the crown was hard and grim,
But his march to the front was firm and true;
He fought for the stars, and the stars for him,
And God had miracles he must do.
At last he came to his lofty place,
But wild rebellion was knocking there;
Hot anger frowned at his honest face,
And desolation was in the air.
He swore that treason should be met
By every pain that could lay it low,
He rallied ruin against it; yet
His heart beat warm for every foe.
So on he toiled, till lo! in view
Swept sacred Emancipation's plan!
He did the deed he was sent to do;
For God was there, and God knew His man.
Guiding the nation in rocks and shoals,
He climbed the eternal mast of fame,
And, graced with the thanks of all true souls,
Wrote Liberator before his name.
His eyes flashed triumph, then swift grew dim—
A murderer tore that life apart;
But those he loved are still loving him,
And Lincoln is here in every heart!
A face marked deep with the lines of care;
A will of iron, but a heart as warm
As fiery breeze of the tropic air.
He was born a prince, but in hovels cast—
He made the cabin a palace, then;
He grew to be more than a king, at last;
For monarchs, you know, are not always men.
His fight for the crown was hard and grim,
But his march to the front was firm and true;
He fought for the stars, and the stars for him,
And God had miracles he must do.
At last he came to his lofty place,
But wild rebellion was knocking there;
Hot anger frowned at his honest face,
And desolation was in the air.
He swore that treason should be met
By every pain that could lay it low,
He rallied ruin against it; yet
His heart beat warm for every foe.
So on he toiled, till lo! in view
Swept sacred Emancipation's plan!
He did the deed he was sent to do;
For God was there, and God knew His man.
Guiding the nation in rocks and shoals,
He climbed the eternal mast of fame,
And, graced with the thanks of all true souls,
Wrote Liberator before his name.
His eyes flashed triumph, then swift grew dim—
A murderer tore that life apart;
But those he loved are still loving him,
And Lincoln is here in every heart!
But why should I call the muster-roll
Of those who are here in our hearts to-day?
They need no naming; each true, grand soul
Has heard your summons and marched this way.
Why call to Hancock, worthy all praise,
Superb in stature and mental might,
Who helped save Gettysburg's ominous days,
And left brave blood at that glorious fight?
Why call to Sedgwick—modest man—
Who longed but to do his duty well;
Who died in the battle's deadly van,
With no obeisance to shot or shell?
Why call McClellan, whose last life view
Traced over these hills its eager track,
Whose soldiers called him their comrade true,
And spoke of him ever as “Little Mac?”
The Kearneys, the Wadsworths, the Burnsides, the Meades,
Charge to the front of our memory; they
Endorse their commissions with noble deeds,
And star in this festal throng to-day.
A mighty and brilliant band is here,
That none with the eye of flesh may see;
They come from their graves both far and near,
Their bodies prisoned, their souls set free.
Year after year this unseen throng,
By death recruited, counts more and more;
And louder and louder the battle-song
Of heroes that camp on the unseen shore.
If they could speak to us all to-day,
These words with their greetings would be twined:
“Remember us with what love you may,
But care for our loved ones left behind.
You give us monuments grand and high,
You sing to our bravery o'er and o'er,
But let us know that we did not die
That those we cherished might suffer more!”
Of those who are here in our hearts to-day?
They need no naming; each true, grand soul
Has heard your summons and marched this way.
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Superb in stature and mental might,
Who helped save Gettysburg's ominous days,
And left brave blood at that glorious fight?
Why call to Sedgwick—modest man—
Who longed but to do his duty well;
Who died in the battle's deadly van,
With no obeisance to shot or shell?
Why call McClellan, whose last life view
Traced over these hills its eager track,
Whose soldiers called him their comrade true,
And spoke of him ever as “Little Mac?”
The Kearneys, the Wadsworths, the Burnsides, the Meades,
Charge to the front of our memory; they
Endorse their commissions with noble deeds,
And star in this festal throng to-day.
A mighty and brilliant band is here,
That none with the eye of flesh may see;
They come from their graves both far and near,
Their bodies prisoned, their souls set free.
Year after year this unseen throng,
By death recruited, counts more and more;
And louder and louder the battle-song
Of heroes that camp on the unseen shore.
If they could speak to us all to-day,
These words with their greetings would be twined:
“Remember us with what love you may,
But care for our loved ones left behind.
You give us monuments grand and high,
You sing to our bravery o'er and o'er,
But let us know that we did not die
That those we cherished might suffer more!”
And where are the thousands who bravely waged
A losing strife? Whose hearts were true,
Though false their cause? Whose souls engaged
Their all in the work they had to do?
The warrior cruelest in the fight,
Is tenderest to the fallen foe;
The hand that stabs with deadliest might,
Would stanch forever the crimson flow.
If all of the noblest Southern dead
Could march together into this place,
With Lee's tall form at the column's head,
And Stonewall Jackson's calm, kind face,
And each should bear the smile of a friend,
As many of those who live have done,
No man that is here, but would straight extend
The hand of friendship to every one.
The war is over; the strife has fled;
Love lingers the living ones between;
Let all of the brave Confederate dead
Be welcomed here as our guests unseen!
A losing strife? Whose hearts were true,
Though false their cause? Whose souls engaged
Their all in the work they had to do?
The warrior cruelest in the fight,
Is tenderest to the fallen foe;
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Would stanch forever the crimson flow.
If all of the noblest Southern dead
Could march together into this place,
With Lee's tall form at the column's head,
And Stonewall Jackson's calm, kind face,
And each should bear the smile of a friend,
As many of those who live have done,
No man that is here, but would straight extend
The hand of friendship to every one.
The war is over; the strife has fled;
Love lingers the living ones between;
Let all of the brave Confederate dead
Be welcomed here as our guests unseen!
The smoke of our cannon has sailed away;
The clouds are gone and the sky is clear.
Heaven looks from eternal heights to-day,
And finds that the nation still is here.
The North and the South, the East and West,
The dead, the living, all agree
That this shall be the grandest—best—
Of all the nations that time can see;
Shall laugh at centuries as they sweep
In clouds and sunbeams above its head;
Shall all of our stars in safety keep,
Shall hold the hands of our patriot dead.
But how? By lying in sloth serene?
By letting the soldier-spirit cease,
While foreign king and foreign queen
Still marshal their troops in time of peace?
While hosts of the East march to and fro
With muskets flashing and bugles that ring,
Ready to grapple with any foe
With all that discipline's strength can bring?
While navies wander from sea to sea,
Ready to shell the resistless town,
Able, if conflict with them should be,
To storm our cities and crush them down?
Rally, O men of the Western land!
You hold this country by heaven's own right!
Strive hard and remember, hand in hand,
How best to struggle and how to fight!
God loves sweet peace; but when the laws
Of peace are broken by lawless ones,
I notice He loves to have His cause
Hedged round with the best of men and guns.
So let us learn in the time of peace
The many hardships war may mean,
And never upon our hearts shall cease
To glitter the smiles of our guests unseen!
The clouds are gone and the sky is clear.
Heaven looks from eternal heights to-day,
And finds that the nation still is here.
The North and the South, the East and West,
The dead, the living, all agree
That this shall be the grandest—best—
Of all the nations that time can see;
Shall laugh at centuries as they sweep
In clouds and sunbeams above its head;
Shall all of our stars in safety keep,
Shall hold the hands of our patriot dead.
But how? By lying in sloth serene?
By letting the soldier-spirit cease,
While foreign king and foreign queen
Still marshal their troops in time of peace?
While hosts of the East march to and fro
With muskets flashing and bugles that ring,
Ready to grapple with any foe
With all that discipline's strength can bring?
While navies wander from sea to sea,
Ready to shell the resistless town,
Able, if conflict with them should be,
To storm our cities and crush them down?
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You hold this country by heaven's own right!
Strive hard and remember, hand in hand,
How best to struggle and how to fight!
God loves sweet peace; but when the laws
Of peace are broken by lawless ones,
I notice He loves to have His cause
Hedged round with the best of men and guns.
So let us learn in the time of peace
The many hardships war may mean,
And never upon our hearts shall cease
To glitter the smiles of our guests unseen!
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