 | Poems |  |
22
TO JOE, AT WAR.
(1865.)
Now many a day has passed away
Since last I pressed your hand,
And saw you go to fight the foe
Of this, our native land.
Thrice has December's chilling blast
Its desolation round you cast,
Bidding all warmth depart;
And yet I know, my gallant Joe,
It has not cooled your heart!
Since last I pressed your hand,
And saw you go to fight the foe
Of this, our native land.
Thrice has December's chilling blast
Its desolation round you cast,
Bidding all warmth depart;
And yet I know, my gallant Joe,
It has not cooled your heart!
Now many a sun has come and gone,
Since you and I have met,
And deep in gore to rise no more
Full many a star has set;
A thousand hopes that then were bright
Have darkened into endless night,
A thousand hearts have bled;
And many a home is wrapped in gloom,
And mourning for its dead.
Since you and I have met,
And deep in gore to rise no more
Full many a star has set;
A thousand hopes that then were bright
Have darkened into endless night,
A thousand hearts have bled;
And many a home is wrapped in gloom,
And mourning for its dead.
23
Now many a form, once blithe and warm,
Lies 'neath the Southern sod,
And many a soul has reached the goal,
And gone to meet its God.
The rolling drum and bugle's tones,
Are freighted with the widow's groans,
And orphan's helpless cry;
For in the graves of Freedom's braves
The hearts of thousands lie.
Lies 'neath the Southern sod,
And many a soul has reached the goal,
And gone to meet its God.
The rolling drum and bugle's tones,
Are freighted with the widow's groans,
And orphan's helpless cry;
For in the graves of Freedom's braves
The hearts of thousands lie.
But by the blood of those who stood
And fought at Bunker Hill,
By all our pride of those who died,
But live, in history, still;
By all our fields, with carnage stained,
By all that we have lost and gained,
By all our faith in God,
That flag shall yet be firmly set
On every Southern rod!
And fought at Bunker Hill,
By all our pride of those who died,
But live, in history, still;
By all our fields, with carnage stained,
By all that we have lost and gained,
By all our faith in God,
That flag shall yet be firmly set
On every Southern rod!
That flag shall float, through o'er the throat
Of many a blazing gun!
That flag shall wave, though o'er the grave
Of many a traitorous son!
Though the whole South, from shore to shore,
Be drenched with patriotic gore,
The North with widows' tears;
Noble and grand that flag shall stand,
And wave a thousand years!
Of many a blazing gun!
That flag shall wave, though o'er the grave
Of many a traitorous son!
Though the whole South, from shore to shore,
Be drenched with patriotic gore,
The North with widows' tears;
Noble and grand that flag shall stand,
And wave a thousand years!
24
Full well you know, my honest Joe,
How virtue e'er exalts;
So may you claim a soldier's fame,
But shun a soldier's faults.
And when this bloody war is o'er,
And Peace comes smiling down once more
To heal our nation's woe,
May Honor crown you with renown,
As gayly home you go.
How virtue e'er exalts;
So may you claim a soldier's fame,
But shun a soldier's faults.
And when this bloody war is o'er,
And Peace comes smiling down once more
To heal our nation's woe,
May Honor crown you with renown,
As gayly home you go.
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