142

THE RESPONSE.

And such a glad trust arose, Harry,

In this sad heart of mine,

For I felt that God would keep you

Safe in His hand divine.

And I kissed their pure, young foreheads,
And said, "He is over all!

He counteth the hair of your heads, darlings,
And noteth the sparrow's fall."

Then I sung them to their sleep, Harry,

With hymns all trust and love,
And I knew that God was listening

From His gracious throne above.
And since that calm, sweet evening,
I have felt so happy, dear!
And so have the children, Harry ;
They seem to know no fear.

They talk of your coming home, Harry,
As something sure to be;
I list to their childish pratings,
Nor care to check their glee.
For oh, 't is a cause so noble,

And you so brave and true;
And God protects His own, Harry,

And surely will watch o'er you.

BRING THE HERO HOME.

So keep up a brave good heart, Harry!
God willing and He knows best
We'll welcome you, safe and happy,
Back to the dear home-nest.

And Maud and Rose and Willie

Shall yet, with a moistened eye, Give thanks to the dear, good Father, While you stand tearful by.

BRING THE HERO HOME.

IN MEMORY OF GEN. E. D. BAKER.

HE fell in the front of battle,

Where the brave would wish to die,

Rather than bow to the traitor,

Or humble our banner and fly. Giving for all that was given Powder and lead and shell; Front to front with their bravest, Undaunted, unconquered, he fell.

To right and left and before him,
A myriad host in power,
Earth torn with thundering iron,
Air rent with a leaden shower;

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144

BRING THE HERO HOME.

A river unbridged behind him, Rolling its angry tide, · O'erpowered, betrayed, and deserted, A hero the patriot died.

Died like the world's first martyr
By the rebel hand of Cain,
A victim on Blunder's red altar,
Through others' incompetence slain.
A sacrifice offered by Folly
That tampered with precious life,
By plunging his gallant legion
In cruel and purposeless strife.

He would not flee from the foeman,
Nor shame the heroes he led;
Rather than life by surrender,
Death with his own brave dead.
Facing the rifle and cannon,
Sulphur and sabre and frown,
True to his country and honor,

Our gallant" Gray Eagle" went down.

Gather the dust of the mighty,

Sleeping so quietly there,

Wash out the blotches of crimson

Clotting his silvery hair.

BRING THE HERO HOME.

Woe to the traitors whose bullets Have channelled a path for the stain, That eloquent tongue stilled forever,

And shattered that wonderful brain.

Silenced and hushed and frozen,
Tongue and lip and word,
Brave as the spirit of Freedom,

And true as his flashing sword;
Stilled the heart that quailed not
Before them in forum or field,
That alone to Death would surrender,
And only to Destiny yield.

Take from the field where he battled,
Up from the field where he bled,
His dust; let no soil of the traitor
Give grave to our glorious dead.
For Liberty dwelt in his spirit;
And freemen should fashion his grave

Beneath free humanity's banner,

And not the cursed flag of the slave:

So hither, his relics bring hither,
And let him pass gently to rest,

Like Mars when his night march is ended
Within his loved land of the West

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A BATTLE HYMN.

Where Poesy, chanting in sorrow, Shall number the glories he won, And Eloquence, silent and weeping, Grieves for her favorite son.

Where comes the voice of the West wind,

From the unmanacled sea,
Free as his chain-spurning spirit,
Let his last dwelling-place be.
Heaven's bright sentinels guarding,
Types of his soul's clear flame,
His requiem chanted by Ocean,
Undying and grand as his fame.
San Francisco, Cal.

F. S.

A BATTLE HYMN.

BY GEORGE H. BOKER.

GOD, to Thee we humbly bow,

With hand unarmed and naked brow;
Musket, lance, and sheathed sword

At Thy feet we lay, O Lord!
Gone is all the soldier's boast
In the valor of the host:

Kneeling here, we do our most.