"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."
We reached our Rail Head, the main line to the regions of Meurthe-et-Moselle, at nine o'clock; and struck camp in the yards and fields for the night. As the night was chill and our camp sufficiently secure from observation, fires were kindled by the various companies. Gathered in their cheering circles of warmth and glow, the boys beguiled the hours preceding Taps, with jest and song. They sang of love and war and God; and through all their melody, as a golden thread, could be traced the thought of home and of a Great Tomorrow! Gradually, as glow of sunset paling in the west, the fires burned low; and out of dying embers rose shadowy forms that beckoned weary eyes to the land of dreams.
To each sleeping soldier boy
Magi dreams bring gifts of joy;
Sweet and pure as mother love
Brought by angels from above.
Dreams of home across the sea
And of scenes loved tenderly,
As he left them yesterday
When he turned and marched away.
Dreams of mother at the door
Standing as in days of yore,
Calling him to come from play
At the closing of the day.
Dreams of maiden, boyhood friend,
Down the road beyond the bend,
Where the trees made welcome shade
Trysting place for boy and maid.
Where he told her of his love
Pure and true as stars above,
And she answered with her eyes
Beautiful as Paradise.
*****
Dream on, soldier boy of mine,
May sweet memory entwine
Love that thrills with hope that cheers,
Wakening day with yester years!
May sweet morrow's dawning beam
Hallow and make real thy dream.