Nay—though the rasp of the flesh was so sore,
Faith, that had yearnings far keener than these,
Saw the soft sheen of the Thitherward Shore
Under the shade of the trees;—
Caught the high psalm of ecstatic delight—
Heard the harps harping, like soundings of seas—
Watched earth's assoiled ones walking in white
Under the shade of the trees.
Oh, was it strange he should pine for release,
Touched to the soul with such transports as these,—
He who so needed the balsam of peace,
Under the shade of the trees?
Yea, it was noblest for him—it was best
(Questioning naught of our Father's decrees),
There to pass over the river and rest
Under the shade of the trees!
MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON.
* * * * *
THE BLACK REGIMENT.
[May 27, 1863.]
Dark as the clouds of even,
Banked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dead mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land,—
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event,
Stands the black regiment.
Down the long dusty line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.