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(THE PAUPER SOLDIER.)
(Suggested by a Recent Happening.)
They carried the man to a soldier's rest,
The drum was muffled, the fife sang low;
A blade of battle was on his breast,
A tattered banner that knew the foe.
There sprang, from the roof of his earthy tent,
A peal of thunder and flash of flame;
With glory's plaudits the air was rent;
(He died in the poorhouse, all the same.)
The drum was muffled, the fife sang low;
A blade of battle was on his breast,
A tattered banner that knew the foe.
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A peal of thunder and flash of flame;
With glory's plaudits the air was rent;
(He died in the poorhouse, all the same.)
A chaplain stood by the coffin-side,
And preached a story of long ago;
This frozen visage would flush with pride,
If just but the dead could hear and know!
Again with young and vigorous hand,
He climbed the ladder of early fame,
And pawned a life for his native land,
(And died in a poorhouse, all the same.)
And preached a story of long ago;
This frozen visage would flush with pride,
If just but the dead could hear and know!
Again with young and vigorous hand,
He climbed the ladder of early fame,
And pawned a life for his native land,
(And died in a poorhouse, all the same.)
O proud Columbia! well 'tis said,
If ever an insult you may meet,
A million heroes, victory-led,
Will lay their lives at your very feet!
But strip the flags from the shining domes,
And bow your beautiful head in shame,
If men who fought for the palace-homes
Must die in a poorhouse all the same!
If ever an insult you may meet,
A million heroes, victory-led,
Will lay their lives at your very feet!
But strip the flags from the shining domes,
And bow your beautiful head in shame,
If men who fought for the palace-homes
Must die in a poorhouse all the same!
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