With Little Boy Blue

(Written after the death of Eugene Field.)

Silent he watched them—the soldiers and dog—
Tin toys on the little armchair,
Keeping their tryst through the slow going years
For the hand that had stationed them there;
And he said that perchance the dust and the rust
Hid the griefs that the toy friends knew,
And his heart watched with them all the dark years,
Yearning ever for Little Boy Blue.
Three mourners they were for Little Boy Blue,
Three ere the cold winds had begun;
Now two are left watching—the soldier and dog;
But for him the vigil is done.
For him too, the angel has chanted a song
A song that is lulling and true.
He has seen the white gates of the mansions of rest,
Thrown wide by his Little Boy Blue.
God sent not the Angel of Death for his soul—
Not the Reaper who cometh for all—
But out of the shadows that curtained the day
He heard his lost little one call,
Heard the voice that he loved, and following fast,
Passed on to the far-away strand;
And he walks the streets of the City of Peace,
With Little Boy Blue by the hand.
Sarah Beaumont Kennedy.

The Charge of Pickett's Brigade

In Gettysburg at break of day
The hosts of war are held in leash
To gird them for the coming fray,
E'er brazen-throated monsters flame,
Mad hounds of death that tear and maim.
Ho, boys in blue,
And gray so true,
Fate calls to-day the roll of fame.
On Cemetery Hill was done
The clangor of four hundred guns;
Through drifting smoke the morning sun
Shone down a line of battled gray
Where Pickett's waiting soldiers lay.
Virginians all,
Heed glory's call,
You die at Gettysburg to-day,
'Twas Pickett's veteran brigade,
Great Lee had named; he knew them well;
Oft had their steel the battle stayed.
O warriors of the eagle plume,
Fate points for you the hour of doom.
Ring rebel yell,
War cry and knell!
The stars, to-night, will set in gloom.
O Pickett's men, ye sons of fate,
Awe-stricken nations bide your deeds.
For you the centuries did wait,
While wrong had writ her lengthening scroll
And God had set the judgment roll.
A thousand years
Shall wait in tears,
And one swift hour bring to goal.
The charge is done, a cause is lost;
But Pickett's men heed not the din
Of ragged columns battle tost;
For fame enshrouds them on the field,
And pierced, Virginia, is thy shield.
But stars and bars
Shall drape thy scars;
No cause is lost till honor yield.

Hullo

W'en you see a man in woe,
Walk right up and say "Hullo!"
Say "Hullo" and "How d'ye do?
How's the world a-usin' you?"
Slap the fellow on the back;
Bring your hand down with a whack;
Walk right up, and don't go slow;
Grin an' shake, an' say "Hullo!"
Is he clothed in rags? Oh! sho;
Walk right up an' say "Hullo!"
Rags is but a cotton roll
Jest for wrappin' up a soul;
An' a soul is worth a true
Hale and hearty "How d'ye do?"
Don't wait for the crowd to go,
Walk right up and say "Hullo!"
When big vessels meet, they say
They saloot an' sail away.
Jest the same are you an' me
Lonesome ships upon a sea;
Each one sailin' his own log,
For a port behind the fog;
Let your speakin' trumpet blow;
Lift your horn an' cry "Hullo!"
Say "Hullo!" an' "How d'ye do?"
Other folks are good as you.
W'en you leave your house of clay
Wanderin' in the far away,
W'en you travel through the strange
Country t'other side the range,
Then the souls you've cheered will know
Who ye be, an' say "Hullo."
Sam Walter Foss.