Classic Poem

Bronzed and bearded the veterans stood; their ranks were sparse and slim;
And the Colonel standing before them felt his eyes grow strangely dim;
He thought of the muster, he thought of the march, he thought of a darker day,
And he thinks he hears through the hush of years the sharp artillery play;
And he sees the flashing of burnished steel, and the hurrying cannoneer;
And he hears, while his heart leaps up again, the long-roll sounding clear,
And the rub, rub, rub-a-dub dub , falls sharp on his listening ear.

The Colonel stood with head bowed down, and his breast heaved hard and fast,
As he thought of the parting and thought of the pain and thought of the dangers past,
Of Bob, and Willie, and John, and Jim, — of the brave lads sent to death
With the kisses pressed by a mother's lips kept warm to their dying breath;
He thought of the pride of his men so true, as they swept on the enemy's lines,
He thought of their valor, as, crouched and cold, they fought in the pitiless pines,
Mid the rub, rub, rub-a-dub dub , and the flashing of hidden mines.

The Colonel's voice is so loud and strong he could rally a whole brigade,
With his charge in the face of the enemy's guns, in the din of the cannonade;
But now, as he speaks, for the smothered tears you can scarcely his story learn,
He speaks so slow and he speaks so low to the hearts that within us burn, —
He speaks so slow and he speaks so low, for he tells of a sore defeat,
With the color-guard felled like a dog to the earth and the colors beneath his feet,
While the rub-a-dub dub, dub, rub-a-dub dub , is beating a slow retreat.

As brave as a lion our color-guard stood; but they charged us three to one,
And our lines fell back in ruin and wrack from the havoc of grape and gun —
Fell back with a comrade's cry in their ears and a comrade's pain in their heart,
And the ghastly stare of the shattered slain forever of life a part, —
With the rifled dead, and the riddled blue, and the flag of their dear desire,
To serve as the trophies of jeer and jest around an enemy's fire,
And the rub-a-dub dub, dub, rub-a-dub dub , a dirge for their funeral pyre.

The Colonel said: " It is sad, my men, that now that the war is done,
And we come to talk of the troubles past, and the dawn of a gladder sun,
That still in the van of our broken ranks the old flag may not go, —
It lies, with the pride of our regiment, at the feet of a mocking foe;
We may boast our triumphs, and count our scars, and dream of a great reward,
But the flag that has led us through thick and thin is down with the color-guard,
Where no rub-a-dub dub, dub, rub-a-dub dub , may sweep o'er the peaceful sward. "

Then over the bronzed and bearded men a tremor of gladness swept,
As one by one they drew from their breasts a trophy that each had kept;
And one, with a trembling in his voice, that was more of joy than tears,
Stood up to speak for the battle-scarred ranks of the veteran volunteers, —
And they marked him well as a valiant man in the march or the fiercest fight,
Who never had swerved when the call was close, to the left, or yet to the right,
While the rub, rub, rub-a-dub dub , was calling for men of might.

And he said, " My Colonel, 'twas I stood by when our color-guard fell that day,
And under the stress of unequal strength our regiment melted away,
And I tore, ere I went, the tattered rags that clung to the staff of oak,
That has led us to victory time on time through the cloud and the fire and the smoke,
And I folded them close to my heart, just here; for I could not then forget
If the boys could but look on their colors snatched from the hell of that parapet,
That the rub-a-dub dub, dub, rub-a-dub dub , would lead them to victory yet. "

They gathered around their Colonel so dear; and each had a tattered shred
Of the flag that had cheered on the living, that had rallied their comrades dead;
And they stitched with the fragments of glory the thoughts of a holier day —
Of the gallant and true whose red rich blood still mottled it where it lay;
And up from a staff, new-carven, they raised the sacred thing,
And wildly and yet more wildly the cheers of the veterans ring,
While rub-a-dub dub, dub, rub-a-dub dub , exultant the tidings wing.

O flag of our fathers! O flag of our sons! O flag of a world's desire!
Through the night and the light, through the fright and the fight, through the smoke and the cloud and the fire,
There are arms to defend, there are hearts to befriend, there are souls to bear up from the pall,
While thy cluster of stars broodeth over the wars, that justice and mercy befall!
There are breasts that will clasp it when tattered and torn, there are prayers to brood like a dove,
There are fingers to fashion it fold unto fold, and hands that will wave it above,
While the rub-a-dub dub, dub, rub-a-dub dub , is beating the marches of Love!