Maurine and Other Poems Part 20

"Success" was his countersign, And "though it took all Summer,"

He kept fighting upon "that line."

Let Sherman, the stern old General, Come rallying with his men; Let them march once more through Georgia And down to the sea again.

Oh! that grand old tramp to Savannah, Three hundred miles to the coast, It will live in the heart of the nation, Forever its pride and boast.

As Sheridan went to the battle, When a score of miles away, He has come to the feast and banquet, By the iron horse, to-day.

Its pace is not much swifter Than the pace of that famous steed Which bore him down to the contest And saved the day by his speed.

Then go over the ground to-day, boys, Tread each remembered spot.

It will be a gleesome journey, On the swift-shod feet of thought; You can fight a bloodless battle, You can skirmish along the route, But it's not worth while to forage, There are rations enough without.

Don't start if you hear the cannon, It is not the sound of doom, It does not call to the contest-- To the battle's smoke and gloom.

"Let us have peace," was spoken, And lo! peace ruled again; And now the nation is shouting, Through the cannon's voice, "Amen."

O boys who besieged old Vicksburg, Can time e'er wash away The triumph of her surrender, Nine years ago to-day?

Can you ever forget the moment, When you saw the flag of white, That told how the grim old city Had fallen in her might?

Ah, 'twas a bold brave army, When the boys, with a right good will, Went gayly marching and singing To the fight at Champion Hill.

They met with a warm reception, But the soul of "Old John Brown"

Was abroad on that field of battle, And our flag did NOT go down.

Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain, Of Corinth and Donelson, Of Kenesaw and Atlanta, And tell how the day was won!

Hush! bow the head for a moment-- There are those who cannot come.

No bugle-call can arouse them-- No sound of fife or drum.

Oh, boys who died for the country, Oh, dear and sainted dead!

What can we say about you That has not once been said?

Whether you fell in the contest, Struck down by shot and sh.e.l.l, Or pined 'neath the hand of sickness Or starved in the prison cell,

We know that you died for Freedom, To save our land from shame, To rescue a periled Nation, And we give you deathless fame.

'T was the cause of Truth and Justice That you fought and perished for, And we say it, oh, so gently, "Our boys who died in the war."

Saviors of our Republic, Heroes who wore the blue, We owe the peace that surrounds us-- And our Nation's strength to you.

We owe it to you that our banner, The fairest flag in the world, Is to-day unstained, unsullied, On the Summer air unfurled.

We look on its stripes and spangles, And our hearts are filled the while With love for the brave commanders, And the boys of the rank and file.

The grandest deeds of valor Were never written out, The n.o.blest acts of virtue The world knows nothing about.

And many a private soldier, Who walks his humble way, With no sounding name or t.i.tle, Unknown to the world to-day, In the eyes of G.o.d is a hero As worthy of the bays, As any mighty General To whom the world gives praise.

Brave men of a mighty army, We extend you friendship's hand!

I speak for the "Loyal Women,"

Those pillars of our land.

We wish you a hearty welcome, We are proud that you gather here To talk of old times together On this brightest day in the year.

And if Peace, whose snow-white pinions, Brood over our land to-day, Should ever again go from us, (G.o.d grant she may ever stay!) Should our Nation call in her peril For "Six hundred thousand more,"

The loyal women would hear her, And send you out as before.

We would bring out the treasured knapsack, We would take the sword from the wall, And hushing our own hearts' pleadings, Hear only the country's call.

For next to our G.o.d, is our Nation; And we cherish the honored name, Of the bravest of all brave armies Who fought for that Nation's fame.

n.o.bLESSE OBLIGE.

I hold it the duty of one who is gifted, And specially dowered in all men's sight, To know no rest till his life is lifted Fully up to his great gifts' height.

He must mold the man into rare completeness, For gems are set only in gold refined.

He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness, And cast out folly and pride from his mind.

For he who drinks from a G.o.d's gold fountain Of art or music or rhythmic song Must sift from his soul the chaff of malice, And weed from his heart the roots of wrong.

Great gifts should be worn, like a crown befitting!

And not like gems in a beggar's hands.

And the toil must be constant and unremitting Which lifts up the king to the crown's demands.

AND THEY ARE DUMB.

I have been across the bridges of the years.

Wet with tears Were the ties on which I trod, going back Down the track To the valley where I left, 'neath skies of Truth, My lost youth.

As I went, I dropped my burdens, one and all-- Let them fall; All my sorrows, all my wrinkles, all my care, My white hair, I laid down, like some lone pilgrim's heavy pack, By the track.

As I neared the happy valley with light feet, My heart beat To the rhythm of a song I used to know Long ago, And my spirits gushed and bubbled like a fountain Down a mountain.

On the border of that valley I found you, Tried and true; And we wandered through the golden Summer-Land Hand in hand.

And my pulses beat with rapture in the blisses Of your kisses.

And we met there, in those green and verdant places, Smiling faces, And sweet laughter echoed upward from the dells Like gold bells.

And the world was spilling over with the glory Of Youth's story.

It was but a dreamer's journey of the brain; And again I have left the happy valley far behind; And I find Time stands waiting with his burdens in a pack For my back.

As he speeds me, like a rough, well-meaning friend, To the end, Will I find again the lost ones loved so well?

Who can tell!

But the dead know what the life will be to come-- And they are dumb!

NIGHT.

As some dusk mother shields from all alarms The tired child she gathers to her breast, The brunette Night doth fold me in her arms, And hushes me to perfect peace and rest.

Her eyes of stars shine on me, and I hear Her voice of winds low crooning on my ear.

O Night, O Night, how beautiful thou art!