Only A Private Killed

"We've had a brush," the Captain said,     "And Rebel blood we've spilled;     We came off victors with the loss     Of only a private killed."     "Ah," said the orderly "it was hot,"     Then he breathed a heavy breath     "Poor fellow! he was badly shot,     Then bayoneted to death."     And now was hushed the martial din;     The saucy foe had fled;     They brought the private's body in;     I went to see the dead;     For I could not think our Rebel foes     So valiant in the van     So boastful of their chivalry     Could kill a wounded man.     A musket ball had pierced his thigh     A frightful, crushing wound     And then with savage bayonets     They pinned him to the ground.     One deadly thrust drove through the heart,     Another through the head;     Three times they stabbed his pulseless breast     When he lay cold and dead.     His hair was matted with his gore,     His hands were clinched with might,     As if he still his musket bore     So firmly in the fight.     He had grasped the foemen's bayonets     Their murderous thrusts to fend:     They raised the coat-cape from his face,     And lo it was my friend!     Think what a shudder chilled my heart!     'Twas but the day before     We laughed together merrily,     As we talked of days of yore.     "How happy we shall be," he said,     "When the war is o'er, and when     With victory's song and victory's tread     We all march home again."     Ah little he dreamed that soldier brave     So near his journey's goal     How soon a heavenly messenger     Would claim his Christian soul.     But he fell like a hero fighting,     And hearts with grief are filled;     And honor is his, tho' the Captain says     "Only a private killed."     I knew him well, he was my friend;     He loved our land and laws,     And he fell a blessed martyr     To our Country's holy cause;     And I know a cottage in the West     Where eyes with tears are filled     As they read the careless telegram     "Only a private killed."     Comrades, bury him under the oak,     Wrapped in his army-blue;     He is done with the battle's din and smoke,     With drill and the proud review.     And the time will come ere long, perchance,     When our blood will thus be spilled,     And what care we if the Captain say     "Only a private killed."     For the glorious Old Flag beckons.     We have pledged her heart and hand,     And we'll brave even death to rescue     Our dear old Fatherland.     We ask not praise nor honors,     Then as each grave is filled     What care we if the Captain say     "Only a private killed."