 | Poems |  |
101
THE SIGNAL GUN.
Softly now the day is dawning,
Song-birds sing the lays of morning;
Al else around is calm and still,
Except the picket on the hill.
Song-birds sing the lays of morning;
Al else around is calm and still,
Except the picket on the hill.
Now where once the morning breeze
Sweetly floated through the trees;
Grim earth-batteries rear on high
Their ghastly heads up to the sky.
Sweetly floated through the trees;
Grim earth-batteries rear on high
Their ghastly heads up to the sky.
From morning's light to evening shades
We dwell in dread of martiral raids;
With faith we trust protecting power
Will shelter us in this dark hour.
We dwell in dread of martiral raids;
With faith we trust protecting power
Will shelter us in this dark hour.
102
Listen! now the signal-gun
Tells the picket's work is done;
No more will he watch and wait—
Stands he now at heaven's gate.
Yes, the picket's race is run,
And his heavenly life begun.
Tells the picket's work is done;
No more will he watch and wait—
Stands he now at heaven's gate.
Yes, the picket's race is run,
And his heavenly life begun.
| Poems | |