  COME, boy, and sit upon my knee, And turn to me your eyes, That I, down in their depths may see A hint of those blue skies Beneath which once my father fought (Your grandsire! and I am not old!) What time our banner’s stars were caught In treason’s eager hold. A boy, as you are now a boy, I did not understand That traitors could their flag destroy And cut in twain their land; I heard the tramp of marching men, So long ago that seems! You can not know what times were then Though you may guess, in dreams. And then my father went away; How would it be if I Should leave you, boy of mine, to-day— Should leave you and should die? Your eyes are wet; O closer come! There is no more of war; Peace long has shown that there are some Kind things to struggle for. You “wonder whether grandpa got In all the fights?” Well, lad, It was Bull Run where he was shot, The first big fight they had! But let us, you and I, insist That this of him be said: The only battles that he missed Were fought when he was dead. “He would have fought, had he been there?” You ask of me, my child; He never would have ceased to dare Those who our flag defiled. And always, in the spring, keep tryst With Memory by the head Of one who not a battle missed Except when he was dead. |
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