Soldiers of the light

by Helen Gray Cone

Bore but the blessing of toil, and a sleep with its face to the morrow,

—Scarce had the clocks struck One, when the deep-toned boom of the cannon,—

Hark, it was twice!—on the ridge that was held by the Southron, gave signal:

Boom, boom, boom after boom to the right, to the left, in the centre;

Cloud, cloud, cloud after cloud, white smoke-clouds that sprang out and hung there,

Massing, concealing, yet severed again and again by the flame-gush.

Now from the heights of the Union the batteries thundered their answer,

Boom, boom, boom after boom, from the right and the left and the centre,

Surf on a winter-bound coast, a tempestuous roaring incessant.

Piercingly rose as a cry, on that ground of vast sound elemental,