Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! What cares he? he cannot know: Fold him in his country's stars, Roll the drum and fire the volley! In the clover or the snow! What cares he? he cannot know: Leave him to God's watching eye; Trust him to the hand that made him. Mortal love weeps idly by: God alone has power to aid him. Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! What cares he? he cannot know: Lay him low! George Henry Boker (1823-1890] "BLOW, BUGLES, BLOW" BLOW, bugles, blow, soft and sweet and low, Sing a good-night song for them who bravely faced the foe; Sing a song of truce to pain, Where they sleep nor wake again, 'Neath the sunshine or the rain Blow, bugles, blow. Wave, banners, wave, above each hero's grave, Fold them, O thou stainless flag that they died to save; All thy stars with glory bright, Bore they on through Treason's night, Through the darkness to the light Wave, banners, wave. "Such is the Death the Soldier Dies" 2245 Fall, blossoms, fall, over one and all, They who heard their country's cry and answered to the call; 'Mid the shock of shot and shell, Where they bled and where they fell, Fall, blossoms, fall. Sigh, breezes, sigh, so gently wandering by, All their battles fought and won, John S. McGroarty [1862 "SUCH IS THE DEATH THE SOLDIER DIES" SUCH is the death the soldier dies: His brave heart following, still, the fray. The smoke-wraiths drift among the trees, A glimpse of far-borne flags, that fade And vanish in the rolling din: He knows the sweeping charge is made, Unmindful of his mortal wound, He faintly calls and seeks to rise; But weakness drags him to the ground: Such is the death the soldier dies. Robert Burns Wilson [1850 THE BRAVE AT HOME From "The Wagoner of the Alleghanies" THE maid who binds her warrior's sash One starry tear-drop hangs and trembles, As e'er bedewed the field of glory. The wife who girds her husband's sword, What though her heart be rent asunder, Was poured upon the field of battle! The mother who conceals her grief While to her breast her son she presses, Then breathes a few brave words and brief, Kissing the patriot brow she blesses, With no one but her secret God To know the pain that weighs upon her, Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod Received on Freedom's field of honor! Thomas Buchanan Read [1822-1872] SOMEBODY'S DARLING INTO a ward of the whitewashed walls Somebody's Darling Somebody's darling! so young and so brave, Matted and damp are the curls of gold Kiss him once for Somebody's sake; Been baptized in those waves of light? 2247 God knows best. He has Somebody's love; Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. Somebody clung to his parting hand; Somebody's watching and waiting for him, And the smiling, child-like lips apart. Pausing to drop on his grave a tear; LITTLE GIFFEN OUT of the focal and foremost fire, "Take him and welcome!" the surgeon said; And we laid him down on a wholesome bed→ And we watched the war with bated breath- Months of torture, how many such! And didn't. Nay, more! in death's despite Giffen and I are left alive." Word of gloom from the war, one day: A tear-his first-as he bade good-by, Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye. "I'll write, if spared." There was news of the fight; But none of Giffen.-He did not write. |