Poems (Blake)/Going and Coming
GOING AND COMING.
Forward!
"On to the front!" the order ran,
"On to the front the foe to meet;"
They shouldered their muskets, boy and man,
And marched away through the city street.
Banners flying and drum-beat proud,
Marshaled them on through the noisy way,
But many a heart in the waiting crowd
Was faint and sick with its fear that day.
"On to the front!" the order ran,
"On to the front the foe to meet;"
They shouldered their muskets, boy and man,
And marched away through the city street.
Banners flying and drum-beat proud,
Marshaled them on through the noisy way,
But many a heart in the waiting crowd
Was faint and sick with its fear that day.
Forward!
"On to the front;" 't was a fearful call,
With Death before to beckon them on;
Who would be first on the field to fall?
Who would be left when the rest were gone?
Was this the last time, full and free,
To hear the pulse of the city roll,
Before they gasped in their agony
With the last deep throb of the parting soul?
"On to the front;" 't was a fearful call,
With Death before to beckon them on;
Who would be first on the field to fall?
Who would be left when the rest were gone?
Was this the last time, full and free,
To hear the pulse of the city roll,
Before they gasped in their agony
With the last deep throb of the parting soul?
Forward!
On to the front! From peace and life, child with their clinging
From wife and hands,
To the shock and crash of the fearful strife,
To the unknown grave in the Southern lands.
Yet firm as the beat of their martial feet,
And strong with a freeman's strength of soul,
They marched away through the crowded street
With quiver of trumpet drums loud roll,
Forward!
······
Home!
With silken folds of the banner torn
In gaps, with the sunlight streaming through,
The bayonets gleam from the muskets worn,
And stain and dust on the army blue;
Back from the battle-fields far away,
Their medals of bronze on cheek and brow,
They came through the city streets to-day,
Our Legion of Honor we call them now.
On to the front! From peace and life, child with their clinging
From wife and hands,
To the shock and crash of the fearful strife,
To the unknown grave in the Southern lands.
Yet firm as the beat of their martial feet,
And strong with a freeman's strength of soul,
They marched away through the crowded street
With quiver of trumpet drums loud roll,
Forward!
······
Home!
With silken folds of the banner torn
In gaps, with the sunlight streaming through,
The bayonets gleam from the muskets worn,
And stain and dust on the army blue;
Back from the battle-fields far away,
Their medals of bronze on cheek and brow,
They came through the city streets to-day,
Our Legion of Honor we call them now.
Home!
When the word went down to that hell of war,
And the fetid walls where the prisoners slept,
God! what a shout rang near and far
And up to the listening heavens swept!
Eyes that were dry mid the groans of death,
Hearts unawed by the bullet and sword,
Grew dim and soft with the whispered breath,
And melted in tears at the well-known word.
When the word went down to that hell of war,
And the fetid walls where the prisoners slept,
God! what a shout rang near and far
And up to the listening heavens swept!
Eyes that were dry mid the groans of death,
Hearts unawed by the bullet and sword,
Grew dim and soft with the whispered breath,
And melted in tears at the well-known word.
Home!
Many had reached it long ago,
Not the place that our hearts had planned,—
The fireside rest that their feet should know,
Who came to us back from the direful land,—
But a sweeter rest which never shall cease—
Than the deepest depths of our love could give,
Where God Himself is the light of Peace,
And the ransomed soldiers of freedom live.
Many had reached it long ago,
Not the place that our hearts had planned,—
The fireside rest that their feet should know,
Who came to us back from the direful land,—
But a sweeter rest which never shall cease—
Than the deepest depths of our love could give,
Where God Himself is the light of Peace,
And the ransomed soldiers of freedom live.
Home!
Whether on earth or whether in heaven,
Where lips may touch or prayers arise,
Honor and praise to their names be given
Under the sun or above the skies.
Till the jubilant air shall rise and swell
With strong full shouts of the heart's delight,
Welcome with clangor of cannon and bell
The bronze-brown heroes of field and fight
Home!
Whether on earth or whether in heaven,
Where lips may touch or prayers arise,
Honor and praise to their names be given
Under the sun or above the skies.
Till the jubilant air shall rise and swell
With strong full shouts of the heart's delight,
Welcome with clangor of cannon and bell
The bronze-brown heroes of field and fight
Home!