 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
CALIFORNIA TO THE SANITARY COMMISSION
WITH A DRAFT FOR “FIFTY THOUSAND,” DECEMBER, 1863
Throughout the long summer our hearts shrank in doubt,
As sterile and parched as our plains with the drought,
Till your voice on the wings of the winter's first rain
Awoke heart and meadow to bounty again.
As sterile and parched as our plains with the drought,
Till your voice on the wings of the winter's first rain
Awoke heart and meadow to bounty again.
'T is yours in its freshness—the first gift that springs
From the soil overarched by these merciful wings,
As pure and less cold than the snowflake that flies
Over fields that are crimson with War's autumn dyes.
From the soil overarched by these merciful wings,
As pure and less cold than the snowflake that flies
Over fields that are crimson with War's autumn dyes.
We speak not of Glory, we talk not of Fame,
We gauge not our bounty to honor or blame;
You ride with the battery wrapped in the dun;
We creep with the ambulance steadily on.
We gauge not our bounty to honor or blame;
You ride with the battery wrapped in the dun;
We creep with the ambulance steadily on.
Yet stay but a moment. Our faith is the same,
Though warmed in the sunshine, or tried in the flame;
Would you say that we shrink, while your courage endures—
That we offer our draft as an exchange for yours?
Though warmed in the sunshine, or tried in the flame;
Would you say that we shrink, while your courage endures—
That we offer our draft as an exchange for yours?
No, perish the thought! whether sunshine or storm,
Though the matrix is broken that moulded our form;
When our mills shall run dry, in the stamps that remain,
That Strength which bred Mercy shall conquer again!
Though the matrix is broken that moulded our form;
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That Strength which bred Mercy shall conquer again!
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |