 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
AT HIS POST.
The youngest of that brother band,
The best and noblest far,
He perished in a foreign land,
Beneath an Indian star;
None of his kindred there was near,
With offices of love,
To drop the tender human tear,
Or cry to God above;
And none was there to render aid,
Where it was wanted most,
When he, a soldier, not afraid,
Fell at his post.
The best and noblest far,
He perished in a foreign land,
Beneath an Indian star;
None of his kindred there was near,
With offices of love,
To drop the tender human tear,
Or cry to God above;
And none was there to render aid,
Where it was wanted most,
When he, a soldier, not afraid,
Fell at his post.
But strangers' arms about him moved,
And swarthy faces bent
Upon him, in the furnace proved,
And by the torture rent;
Ah, strangers only raised his head,
Or gave but careless heed,
And ministered, with noisy tread,
To him in utmost need;
These tended him, though wounded deep
And carried from the host,
When he, who did late vigil keep,
Fell at his post.
And swarthy faces bent
Upon him, in the furnace proved,
And by the torture rent;
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Or gave but careless heed,
And ministered, with noisy tread,
To him in utmost need;
These tended him, though wounded deep
And carried from the host,
When he, who did late vigil keep,
Fell at his post.
He early entered on the strife,
To play a conquering part,
And though a boy in stormy life,
His was a hero's heart;
He bore the burden and the heat,
In battle lone and long,
Nor fainting once thought of retreat,
Because his faith was strong;
Because he would do all his due,
And made of Heaven his boast,
And to his God and country true,
Fell at his post.
To play a conquering part,
And though a boy in stormy life,
His was a hero's heart;
He bore the burden and the heat,
In battle lone and long,
Nor fainting once thought of retreat,
Because his faith was strong;
Because he would do all his due,
And made of Heaven his boast,
And to his God and country true,
Fell at his post.
And we shall never see his grave,
Nor plant memorial flowers,
Nor watch the petals ope and wave,
In those far foreign bowers;
And callous eyes will mark the spot,
Where he was coldly thrust,
But ours in utter grief may not,
Nor mourn the sacred dust;
Nor shall we now the relics take,
So sweet, to treasure most,
Since he, whom danger could not shake
Fell at his post.
Nor plant memorial flowers,
Nor watch the petals ope and wave,
In those far foreign bowers;
And callous eyes will mark the spot,
Where he was coldly thrust,
But ours in utter grief may not,
Nor mourn the sacred dust;
Nor shall we now the relics take,
So sweet, to treasure most,
Since he, whom danger could not shake
Fell at his post.
His steed will whinny in the stall,
His dog whine at the gate,
But never answer to the call
Their master and their mate;
No hand to pet the glossy neck,
Or stroke the panting side,
Or brush away the white foam fleck,
That tells of glorious ride;
And broken was no common plan,
One princely in a host,
When he, though fighting still, a man
Fell at his post.
His dog whine at the gate,
But never answer to the call
Their master and their mate;
No hand to pet the glossy neck,
Or stroke the panting side,
Or brush away the white foam fleck,
That tells of glorious ride;
And broken was no common plan,
One princely in a host,
When he, though fighting still, a man
Fell at his post.
And one he loved will never know,
How dear was she to him,
Though others' tears in torrents flow,
And others' eyes are dim;
But she to colder love will turn,
And list to lighter vow,
Yet not for him her bosom burn,
Nor pale her radiant brow;
And others may be told, not she,
How on that Indian coast,
Her name was murmured last, when he
Fell at his post.
How dear was she to him,
Though others' tears in torrents flow,
And others' eyes are dim;
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And list to lighter vow,
Yet not for him her bosom burn,
Nor pale her radiant brow;
And others may be told, not she,
How on that Indian coast,
Her name was murmured last, when he
Fell at his post.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |