THE REVEILLE. HARK! I hear the tramp of thousands, Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum,— Saying, "Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. "Let me of my heart take counsel : War is not of Life the sum; Who shall stay and reap the harvest When the autumn days shall come?" But the drum Echoed, "Come! Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn sounding drum. "But when won the coming battle, What of profit springs therefrom? What if conquest, subjugation, Even greater ills become?" But the drum Answered, "Come! You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee answering drum. "What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder, Whistling shot and bursting bomb, When my brothers fall around me, Should my heart grow cold and numb?" But the drum Answered, "Come! Better there in death united, than in life a recreant,— come !" Thus they answered,-hoping, fearing, Some in faith, and doubting some, THE REVEILLE. 91 Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said, "My chosen people, come!" Then the drum, Lo! was dumb, For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "Lord, we come!" OUR PRIVILEGE. NOT ours, where battle smoke upcurls, And battle dews lie wet, To meet the charge that treason hurls By sword and bayonet. Not ours to guide the fatal scythe The fleshless reaper wields; The harvest moon looks calmly down Upon our peaceful fields. The long grass dimples on the hill, The pines sing by the sea, And Plenty, from her golden horn, Is pouring far and free. O brothers by the farther sea, Think still our faith is warm; OUR PRIVILEGE. The same bright flag above us waves That swathed our baby form. The same red blood that dyes your fields The blood that flowed when Lander fell, And Baker's crimson tide. And thus apart our hearts keep time With every pulse ye feel, And Mercy's ringing gold shall chime With Valour's clashing steel. 93 |