THE REBEL CHAPLAIN AND THE DYING BOY IN BLUE.
The touching incident recorded in the following verses occurred on a bloody Western battlefield in the old war days in the '60's. Rev. J. B. McFerrin, formerly of Nashville, Tenn., and now in Heaven, an able and honored minister of the Methodist church, and for four years a Confederate chaplain in the army of Tennessee, was the Christian hero of this tenderly pathetic story. His untiring devotion to the sick and wounded amid the dangers and hardships of camp and field are gratefully remembered by his surviving comrades, while his gentle kindness to a stricken foe, will be embalmed in the loving memory of every veteran of both the "Blue and Grey."
'Twas evening on the battle field;
O'er trampled plain, with carnage red
The lines in blue were forced to yield.
Leaving their dying and their dead.
All day 'mid storm of shot and shell,
With smoking crest, war's crimson tide
Had left its victims where they fell,
Nor heeding if they lived or died.
And now the cannon's roar was dumb,
The "Rebel Yell" was hushed and still;
The shrieking shell, the bursting bomb
Were silent all on plain and hill.
From out the lines of faded grey
To where the battle's shock was spent,
A rebel chaplain made his way,
On mercy's kindly mission bent.
He kneeled beside a stricken foe,
Whose life was ebbing fast away,
And then in gentle words and low,
He asked if he might read and pray?
"No, no," the wounded man replied,
"My throat is parched, my lips are dry,"
And in his agony he cried
"Oh, give me water, or I'll die."
The chaplain hurried o'er the strand
And in the stream his cup he dips,
Then hastening back, with gentle hand
He pressed it to his waiting lips.
"Now shall I read?" he asked again,
While bleak winds blew across the wold,
"No," said the soldier in his pain,
"I'm growing cold, I'm growing cold."