'COMING HOME. Of our arms, when onward dashing, Broke by Northern Volunteers! God of Freedom! give Thy Might To the death within their guns! And echo back the cheers Of the Northern Volunteers! COMING HOME. ANONYMOUS. THEY are coming home, coming home, Friend and foe, they are coming home To rest, for their work is done. 333 334 COMING HOME. They come from the hospital, picket, and field, - This was a father of women and men, Here was a form of manly grace; The bomb-shell groaning through the air Drenched with his blood a pictured face And a curl of silken hair. This was a bright-eyed, venturesome boy; And thus for three days lingering, He talked in wandering, rapid speech, Of mother and home, and the cooling spring His lips could almost reach. They are coming home: but not as they went, With the flying flag and stirring band; AFTER ALL. With the tender word and message sent AFTER ALL. BY WILLIAM WINTER. THE apples are ripe in the orchard, And the golden woodlands redden At the cottage-door the grandsire A woman is kneeling beside him; And far from over the distance And the rattling roll of drum. 335 336 AFTER ALL. And the grandsire speaks in a whisper : But we give him to his country, The violets star the meadows, But the grandsire's chair is empty, The cottage is dark and still; There's a nameless grave in the battle-field, And a pallid, tearless woman THE END. |