Poems (Jones)/In "Forest Lawn"

by Amanda Theodosia Jones

IN "FOREST LAWN." PORTER JONES, 2D N. Y. M. R., DIED OCTOBER 14, 1864, AGED 18 YEARS.

H my brother!
Thou, of old so merry-hearted,
 Wont our saddest hours to cheer—
Thine abundant life departed—
   Thou must slumber here.

   Ah my brother,
From the grave where first they bore thee,
 When thy youthful lips were dumb,
With the bugles grieving o'er thee
   And the burial drum;—

   Ah my brother,
Thence at last with sobs we bring thee,
 All thy soldier-work is done:
Here the long farewell we sing thee—
   Thou hast fought—and won!

   Ah my brother!
At thy games, the loud reveillè
 Startling, roused thy spirit proud.
Thine no holiday regalia:
   Battle-garb—and shroud.

   Ah my brother,
Vain are all our broken phrases;
 Down the cliffs of farthest time,
Shall for such roll hymns of praises,
   Surge-like and sublime!

   Ah my brother,
Thou, the loving boy and loyal,
 From thy laughing life of late,
Hast arisen, more than royal,
   Throned in grander state.

   Ah my brother,
Through the sable years before us,
 Heir of Heaven, thy soul of light
Shall, like Hesper burning o'er us,
   Kindle all our night.

   Ah my brother—
But alas! alas! to lose thee!
 Ne'er to wake thee out of sleep!
Theme for praise let others choose thee—
   We must weep—must weep!