THE REBEL'S DOOM. SKIRMISH AT EDWARD'S FERRY, VA., As the cohorts of Pharaoh, o'erwhelmed by the wave, BUYLER. "TIS GROWING VERY DARK, MOTHER. SKIRMISH AT PATTERSON'S CREEK, VA., JUNE 26TH, '61. 'Tis growing very dark, mother, The sun behind the purple hills I cannot see our floating flag, With its white and crimson bars. 'Tis growing very dark, mother, Yet I know that you are kneeling In your old familiar place; And the low tones of your voice, mother, As you bow beside my vacant bed, 'Tis growing very dark, mother, A haze comes o'er my sight, 'Tis growing very dark, mother, Yet darker, darker falls the gloom, But e're the morn yon pearly gates "Tis growing very light, mother, No more the startling cry, "To Arms!" Out on the still air rings; But music from immortal lips Is softly floating down, And One whose head a halo wears, M. B. S. SEND THEM HOME TENDERLY. ENGAGEMENT AT MATHIAS' POINT, VA., SEND them home tenderly, On each silent breast; Let them come back to slumber Beneath northern skies, Where true hearts may weep o'er them, And prayer-incense rise, Send them home tenderly, Scarce gone from their hearthstones, Scarce whispered " ADIEU," Gone forth for their country, Its rights to sustain, But, all bleeding and lifeless, Send them home tenderly, Our martyred and brave, With the stripes and stars 'round them, Bereaved mothers shall clasp them In pride to their breast, And the good of our nation Shall weep where they rest. Send them home tenderly, Each wound gaping wide From the dark purple tide; For right and the Lord. "HOME THOUGHTS." SKIRMISH AT FALL'S CHURCH, va‹, ALONE upon the battle-field, Whose heart that morn beat wild with joy, The evening stole with trembling steps, And gloomy shadows grim and cold, Imagination conjured up Many a glowing scene, Of loving friends left far behind, How soon the bravest heart's o'ercome For thoughts like these so good and pure, Oft make the man a child. FRANCIS B. MURTHA. |