Poems: Patriotic, Religious, Miscellaneous

by Abram Joseph Ryan

That evening cloud was a sign, I ween —
For the sister of that summer day
Shall come next year to the selfsame scene;
The winds will sing the selfsame lay;
The selfsame woods will wave as green,
And Riverside, thy skies serene
Shall robe thee again in a golden sheen;
Yet though thy shadows may weave a screen
Where the children's faces may be seen,
Thou ne'er shall be as thou hast been,
For a face they loved has passed away.

Wake Me a Song

Out of the silences wake me a song,
Beautiful, sad, and soft, and low;
Let the loveliest music sound along,
And wing each note with a wail of woe:
Dim and drear
As hope's last tear;
Out of the silences wake me a hymn,
Whose sounds are like shadows soft and dim.

Out of the stillness in your heart —
A thousand songs are sleeping there —
Wake me a song, thou child of art!
The song of a hope in a last despair:
Dark and low,
A chant of woe;
Out of the stillness, tone by tone,
Cold as a snowflake, low as a moan.

Out of the darkness flash me a song,
Brightly dark and darkly bright;
Let it sweep as a lone star sweeps along
The mystical shadows of the night:
Sing it sweet;
Where nothing is drear, or dark, or dim,
And earth-song soars into heavenly hymn.

In Memoriam (David J. Ryan, C.S.A.)

Thou art sleeping, brother, sleeping
In thy lonely battle grave;
Shadows o'er the past are creeping,
Death, the reaper, still is reaping,
Years have swept, and years are sweeping
Many a memory from my keeping,
But I'm waiting still, and weeping
For my beautiful and brave.

When the battle songs were chanted,
And war's stirring tocsin pealed,
By those songs thy heart was haunted,
And thy spirit, proud, undaunted,
Clamored wildly — wildly panted:
"Mother! let my wish be granted;
I will ne'er be mocked and taunted
That I fear to meet our vaunted
Foemen on the bloody field.

"They are thronging, mother! thronging,
To a thousand fields of fame;
Let me go — 'tis wrong, and wronging
God and thee to crush this longing;
On the muster-roll of glory,
In my country's future story,
On the field of battle gory
I must consecrate my name.

"Mother! gird my sword around me,
Kiss thy soldier-boy `good-bye.'"
In her arms she wildly wound thee,
To thy birth-land's cause she bound thee,
With fond prayers and blessings crowned thee,
And she sobbed: "When foes surround thee,
If you fall, I'll know they found thee
Where the bravest love to die."