  Written by request and read at Huntington Hall, Memorial Evening Services, 1897. Listen, comrades, deep and tender is the burden of the strain, Like a restful benediction to the battle weary brain. Over vale and wood and mountain, it shall echo far and wide, Praising those who fought and conquered, praising those who fought and died. In the beauty of the springtime with what rapture we have heard Thrilling notes of martial music till the palsied limbs have stirred, And we felt to still be marching, marching as we used to do, With the grand old flag before us and the victory in view. We were brothers, heroes, comrades, as the charging lines advanced And the brilliant flash of weapons down the surging columns glanced; How we struck for home and country through a storm of shot and shell, And as one we fought and conquered, or as one we fought and fell. How we struck for home and country 'mid the ardor of the fray, With our comrades falling 'round us and an eager foe at bay: Oh, our willing hands were steady and our willing hearts were strong, Though the furloughs were so fleeting and the way so dark and long. Oh, our willing hands were steady and our hearts were strong to win, Though the way was rough and rugged and the serried ranks grew thin; Though the way was rough and rugged and our eyes were dim with pain, We beheld the spires of Richmond over hillocks of the slain. We beheld the spires of Richmond, with prophetic light they shone In the tranquil southern sunshine as proclaiming her our own; Yet how solemn was the moment when downtrodden at our feet Lay the patriot, the comrade, with his martyr's work complete. We beheld the spires of Richmond and Columbia at peace;— An eternal badge of glory in the stricken slave's release. Names, alone, may be forgotten in the ceaseless rush of years, But our deeds are doubly hallowed by a nation's smiles and tears. Will the future find us ready:—ready as in sixty-one, When we heard the voice of freedom in the boom of Sumter's gun? Faith and hope and love sustain us, e'en as when we sought to stand In the forefront of the conflict, the defenders of our land. From the Union constellation not a single star was rent, For the wealth of pride and party in a common cause were blent; And the graceful folds above us, bullet scarred and blood embossed Are a peerless proclamation of the sacrifice and cost. Well we know the sacred standard guarding ev'ry soldier's grave Must remain what we have made it, the insignia of the brave; Precious, speaking of the partings that have sanctified the past, Holy—for the great reunion we are looking to at last. Can we, dare we, be despondent, should we hear the midnight call? Would we shun the gracious welcome, with its day of rest for all? Nay! a clearer light is dawning when each trusting soul shall seem Like a vessel gently gliding homeward, heavenward, with the stream. Honor's meed of fragrant blossoms brightly blooming o'er the dead, Marks the dear, familiar pathway that their feet were wont to tread; They are waiting, as are many in this world so sweet and fair, Waiting, waiting, only waiting, but the waiting is a prayer. |
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