Classic Poem

Not only those who've given their homes for camps;
Who stand the lonely guard through weary nights;
Who boldly dare disease in noisome damps,
That o'er their graves may flourish human rights;

Not those alone who bear our war-torn flag
Through dead-strewn trenches, deep with bloody mire,
Or toil on marches, where the stoutest lag,
With souls that stay not, though the body tire, —

Not these alone our heroes: there are those,
Not forward in the front of fierce affray,
Where bayonets to bayonets oppose
The naked horrors of Death's carnage day;

But, though Fame trumpet not their valorous deeds.
They fight as hard-won battles as the best:
There is no shout of onset; no one heeds
This silent conflict in the humble breast.

Weeping and waiting, tender hearts to-day
Taste all the bitterness of lonely woe.
When Freedom leads for country, who shall say
Whether is harder, or to stay or go?

Not all the martyrs are of camp and field:
Home knows as noble deeds of sacrifice
As War's red tomes of bloody records yield.
From the pure altar of the heart may rise,

Better than smoke from e'en Right's reeking sword,
The smoke of hopes that Duty offers up,
While the libation of her life is poured,
And stricken hands hold but an empty cup.

'Tis often harder far to bear than fight:
'Tis hard to crush down feelings that will press
Hot tears from eyes blind with grief's sudden night,
To cloak the anguished heart with cheerfulness.

Battles are fought by firesides, where grim want
Is braved and bearded by weak woman's hand,
That sons and husbands, fired by traitor taunt,
May hurl fell treason from a rescued land.

The double fight is waging; and to Him
Who seeth all things with an equal eye —
Though one nor death-smoke nor the dust-cloud dim —
Who'll say which turns a nation's destiny?

All honor to the brave who fight or fall!
Their work shall live, their names shall perish not.
Greet the returned; strew flowers on death's sad pall;
But let not our home army be forgot.