Classic Poem

From the wall of a stately mansion, a fair young face looks down,
Dight with the cap of a soldier, that seemeth a fitting crown,
With firm resolve on his beardless lip, and truthful eyes dark brown.

By the smouldering fire of genius, by the manly strength and grace,
By the innate truth and honor portrayed in his boyish face,
You know that his blood claims kindred with the blood of a noble race;

That his mind and heart are dowered with a wealth beyond fine gold,
That came from the souls of heroes, warm, generous, true and bold,
Who fought for the right, and conquered, in the shadowy days of old.

There needeth no gift prophetic, no wave of sorcery's wand,
To show that his future pathway will be upward, onward, grand,
To the loftiest plane of manhood, where the good and true may stand.

Would you know whose life-like semblance is shrined in that golden frame;
On his country's roll of honor you will find inscribed the name
Of a noble boy, a hero, who died for his country's fame;

Who marched to the field of battle when the sunshine of life's May
Unclosed the hearts of the roses that bloomed along his way,
And the beautiful hope of boyhood dreamed of a long, bright day.

To his soldier-father's letter, full of sore regret and tears,
Tender words of admonition, trembling hopes and fears,
Lest his course should mar the promise of fair fruit in future years,

The boy's reply, unfinished when the fatal fight begun,
Found in his gory garment, when the field was lost and won,
Sealed with his life, was worthy of the noblest Roman's son.

Thus it ran: “Remember, father, that your counsel sowed the seed,
In the training of my childhood, that has ripened to this deed,
In defense of our dear Union, in its time of utmost need.

You taught me to love my country; trained me to be brave and true,
In every word and action that a man may say or do,
For the sake of human freedom. Father, I but follow you.”

But, alas! for the brave young spirit, for its hope and high emprise,
For the hand that lost its cunning—the light of the dark-brown eyes,
And the promise of noble manhood. Alas, for the sacrifice!

He stood in the front with the bravest, in the battle's seething hell,
Unawed by the cannon's thunder or the hail of shot and shell,
And there in the fiery tempest, the fair boy fought and fell!

We turn from the life-like picture, with a sense of sorrow deep;
From the still invisible presence, that will haunt us in our sleep;
From the beardless lip, the earnest eyes, we turn away to weep;

To weep for the life-long sorrow of his father's house and heart;
For the love that lives and lingers when its ties are rent apart;
For the wounded soul whose sickness is beyond the healer's art;

To weep for the land we cherish, so sadly and sorely crost;
For her noble sons that suffered, for the best, the bravest, lost
Defending her holy birthright, in the war's red holocaust.