Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/190

162 VI

Comrades! To-day a tear-wet garland I would bring—

But one song let me sing,

For one sole hero of my heart and desolate home;

Come with me, Comrades, come!

VII

Bring your glad flowers, your flags, for this one humble grave;

For, Soldiers, he was brave!

Tho fell not he before the cannon's thunderous breath,

Yet noble was his death.

VIII

True soldier of his country and the sacred cross—

He counted gain, not loss,

Perils and nameless horrors of the embattled field,

While he had help to yield.

IX

But not where 'mid wild cheers the awful battle broke,—

A hell of fire and smoke,—

He to heroic death went forth with soul elate;

Harder his lonely fate.

XI

There in the pest-house died he; stricken he fearless fell,

Knowing that all was well;

The high, mysterious Power whereof mankind has dreamed

To him not distant seemed.

XI

Yet life to him was O, most dear,—home, children, wife,—

But, dearer still than life,