The Dying Veteran

All-day-long the crash of cannon     Shook the battle-covered plain;     All-day-long the frenzied foemen     Dashed against our lines in vain;     All the field was piled with slaughter;     Now the lurid setting sun     Saw our foes in wild disorder,     And the bloody day was won.     Foremost on our line of battle     All-day-long a veteran stood     Stalwart, brawny, grim and steady,     Black with powder, smeared with blood;     Never flinched and never faltered     In the deadliest storm of lead,     And before his steady rifle     Lay a score of foemen dead.     Never flinched and never faltered     Till our shout of victory rose,     Till he saw defeat, disaster,     Overwhelmed our flying foes;     Then he trembled, then he tottered,     Gasped for breath and dropped his gun,     Staggered from the ranks and prostrate     Fell to the earth. His work was done.     Silent comrades gathered round him,     And his Captain sadly came,     Bathed his quivering lips with water,     Took his hand and spoke his name;     And his fellow soldiers softly     On his knapsack laid his head;     Then his eyes were lit with luster,     And he raised his hand and said:     "Good-bye, comrades; farewell, Captain!     I am glad the day is won;     I am mustered out, I reckon     Never mind-my part is done.     We have marched and fought together     Till you seem like brothers all,     But I hope again to meet you     At the final bugle-call.     "Captain, write and tell my mother     That she must not mourn and cry,     For I never flinched in battle,     And I do not fear to die.     You may add a word for Mary;     Tell her I was ever true.     Mary took a miff one Sunday,     And so I put on the "blue."     "And I know she has repented,     But I never let her see     How it cut her crusty answer     When she turned away from me.     I was never good at coaxing,     So I didn't even try;     But you tell her I forgive her,     And she must not mourn and cry,"     Then he closed his eyes in slumber,     And his spirit passed away,     And his comrades spread a blanket     O'er his cold and silent clay.     At dawn of morn they buried him,     Wrapped in his army-blue.     On the bloody field of Fair Oaks     Sleeps the soldier tried and true.