Poems of love

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Three cheers for the grave commander
Of the grand old Tennessee!
Who won the first great battle--
Gained the first great victory.
His motto was always "Conquer,"
"Success" was his countersign,
And "though it took all summer,"
He kept fighting upon "that line."

Let Sherman, the stern old General,
Respond to the reveille,
Let him march with his boys through Georgia,
From "Atlanta down to the sea."
Oh, that grand old tramp to Savannah!
Three hundred miles to the coast!
It will live in the heart of the Nation,
Forever its pride and boast.

As Sheridan went to the battle.
When a score of miles away,
He has come to the feast and banquet.
By the iron horse to-day.
Its space is not much swifter
Than the pace of that famous steed
That bore him down to the contest
And saved the day by his speed.

(When the above verse, which had been improvised on half of a Programme by Miss Wheeler, during the progress of the exercises, was read, it created wild enthusiasm, and led the loud calls for Sheridan, who came to the front of the platform, where he was received with loud applause and bowed his acknowledgments.)

Then go over the ground to-day, boys,
Tread each remembered spot.
It will be a gleesome journey,
On the swift-shod feet of thought;
You can fight a bloodless battle,
You can skirmish along the route,
But it's not worthwhile to forage,
There are rations enough without.

Don't start if you hear the cannon;
It is not the sound of doom,
It does not call to the contest--
To the battle's smoke and gloom.
"Let us have Peace," was spoken.
And lo! peace ruled again;
And now the nation is shouting,
Through the cannon's voice, "Amen."

Oh, boys, who besieged old Vicksburg,
Can time e'er wash away
The triumph of her surrender,
Nine years ago to-day?
Can you ever forget the moment,
When you saw that flag of white,
That told how the grim old city
Had fallen in her might?

Ah, 'twas a bold, brave army,
When the boys with a right good will,
Went gayly marching and singing
To the fight at Champion Hill.
They met with a warm reception,
But the soul of "Old John Brown"
Was abroad on that field of battle,
And our flag did NOT go down.

Come, heroes of Look Out Mountain,
Of Corinth and Donelson,
Of Kenesaw and Atlanta,
And tell how the day was won!
Hush! bow the head for a moment--
There are those who cannot come.
No bugle call can arouse them--
No sound of fife, or drum.

McPherson fell in the battle,
When its waves were surging high.
Brave Ransom sank by the wayside;
'Twas a lonely death to die.
They walk God's fair, green meadows,
They dwell in a land of bliss,
Yet I think their spirits are with us
In such an hour as this.