swell them to the breeze—
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Cap and plume and starry banner waving proudly through the trees.
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Mark our fainting comrades rally, see that drooping column rise!
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I can almost see the fire newly kindled in their eyes.
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Fresh for conflict, nerved to conquer, see them charging on the foe—
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Face to face with deadly meaning—shot and shell and trusty blow.
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See the thinned ranks wildly breaking—see them scatter to the sun—
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I can die, Uncle Jared, for the glorious day is won!
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But there's something, something pressing with a numbness on my heart,
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And my lips with mortal dumbness fail the burden to impart.
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Oh I tell you, Uncle Jared, there is something back of all
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That a soldier cannot part with when he heeds his country's call!
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Ask the mother what, in dying, sends her yearning spirit back
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Over life's rough, broken marches, where she's pointed out the track.
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Ask the dear ones gathered nightly round the shining household hearth,
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What to them is dearer, better, than the brightest things of earth,
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Ask that dearer one whose loving, like a ceaseless vestal flame,
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Sets my very soul a-glowing at the mention of her name;
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Ask her why the loved in dying feels her spirit linked with his
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In a union death but strengthens, she will tell you what it is.
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And there's something, Uncle Jared, you may tell her if you will—
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That the precious flag she gave me, I have kept unsullied still.
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And—this touch of pride forgive me—where death sought our gallant host—
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Where our stricken lines were weakest, there it ever waved the most.
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Bear it back and tell her fondly, brighter, purer, steadier far,
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'Mid the crimson tide of battle, shone my life's fast setting star.
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But forbear, dear Uncle Jared, when there's something more to tell,
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When her lips with rapid blanching bid you answer how I fell;
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Teach your tongue the trick of slighting, though 'tis faithful to the rest,
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Lest it say her brother's bullet is the bullet in my breast;
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But if it must be that she learn it despite your tenderest care,
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'Twill soothe her bleeding heart to know my bayonet pricked the air.
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Life is ebbing, Uncle Jared, my enlistment endeth here;
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Death, the Conqueror, has drafted—I can no more volunteer—
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But I hear the roll call yonder and I go with willing feet—
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Through the shadows of the valley where victorious armies meet,
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Raise the ensign, Uncle Jared, let its dear folds o'er me fall—
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Strength and Union for my country—and God's banner over all.
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The Real Riches
Table of Contents
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Every coin of earthly treasure
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We have lavished upon earth
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For our simple worldly pleasure
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May be reckoned something worth;
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For the spending was not losing,
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Tho' the purchase were but small;
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It has perished with the using.
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We have had it—that is all!
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All the gold we leave behind us,
|
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When we turn to dust again,
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Tho' our avarice may blind us,
|
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We have gathered quite in vain;
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Since we neither can direct it,
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By the winds of fortune tost,
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Nor in other worlds expect it;
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What we hoarded we have lost.
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But each merciful oblation—
|
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Seed of pity wisely sown,
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What we gave in self-negation,
|
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We may safely call our own;
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For the treasure freely given
|
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Is the treasure that we hoard,
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Since the angels keep in heaven,
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What is lent unto the Lord.
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John G. Saxe.
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The Polish Boy
Table of Contents
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Whence come those shrieks so wild and shrill,
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That cut, like blades of steel, the air,
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swell them to the breeze—
