Think of him faring on, as dear
In the love of There as the love of Here;
And loyal still, as he gave the blows
Of his warrior strength to his country's foes.—
Mild and gentle, as he was brave,—
When the sweetest love of his life he gave
To simple things;—Where the violets grew
Pure as the eyes they were likened to,
The touches of his hand have strayed
As reverently as his lips have prayed:
When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred
Was dear to him as the mocking-bird;
And he pitied as much as a man in pain
A writhing honey-bee wet with rain.—
Think of him still as the same, I say;
He is not dead—he is just away!
LITTLE GIFFIN OF TENNESSEE
Out of the focal and foremost fire,
Out of the hospital walls as dire,
Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene—
Eighteenth battle and he sixteen—
Spectre such as you seldom see,
Little Giffin of Tennessee.