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COMING HOME.
I am blasted, desolate, lightning-cursed, shorn!
Let me alone in your triumph, alone,—
Why would you trouble the stricken, afflicted, forlorn?
Leave me, and pass me! I am feelingless stone!
Let me alone in your triumph, alone,—
Why would you trouble the stricken, afflicted, forlorn?
Leave me, and pass me! I am feelingless stone!
When your army comes back with flags streaming out,
With rolling of drums, bugle-blasts, and huzzas,
Flushed hot with your triumph, aloud ye will shout
For the brave, and point to their badges of stars.
With rolling of drums, bugle-blasts, and huzzas,
Flushed hot with your triumph, aloud ye will shout
For the brave, and point to their badges of stars.
Ay, look! let the gleam dazzle! cast not away
A thought to the soldiers who toiled, bled, and died!
Let them rest! they fought well through the smoke-darkened day;
And when you pass me,—look away,—turn aside!
A thought to the soldiers who toiled, bled, and died!
Let them rest! they fought well through the smoke-darkened day;
And when you pass me,—look away,—turn aside!
COMING HOME.
"ELEVENTH NEW HAMPSHIRE."
Oh, God be thanked that from the depth
Of War's distressing night
We see, across the Southern hills,
At last, a gleam of light!
The spotless hand of Peace holds out
The olive-branch and palm,
And o'er this harassed land of ours
There falls a space of calm;
Of War's distressing night
We see, across the Southern hills,
At last, a gleam of light!
The spotless hand of Peace holds out
The olive-branch and palm,
And o'er this harassed land of ours
There falls a space of calm;
