VIII
He was a member of this post,
Lieutenant of artillery,
Great Lincoln’s gift for bravery,
Of which you never heard him boast.
At Cedar Mountain and at Reams,
Antietam and the Wilderness,
Cold Harbor, with its vain distress,
And Petersburg’s dark bloody streams,
He knew the brunt of bitter fight,
The hardship and the painful wound,
He knew the cost of conquered ground,
The price of freedom and of right.
He knew, indeed, that “war is hell,”
And did not proudly speak of it,
Although his eyes were strangely lit,
When campfire stories he did tell.
But peace was regnant in his soul,
He dreamed about that distant day,
When man shall know the better way,
Of peace on earth, good will to all.
He read with sorrow of the war,
Which Europe’s mighty nations wage,
To him it seemed an insane rage,
Which e’en a soldier must deplore.
It cast a shadow o’er his mind
To think that progress is so slow,
That highest life is still so low
Among the foremost of mankind.
His peace increased, as strength declined,
The world’s sad plight he keenly felt,
And human hope he clearly spelt,
In Peace alone, with Truth entwined.