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ON SILENT BATTLE-FIELDS.
Upon the deathless battle-field, where all
The pulses leap responsive to the beat
Of martial music, and amidst the heat
Of mortal strife is heard the inner call,
The nation's need—which ever holds in thrall
Heroic souls—never to know defeat,
But go with high, unshrinking heart to meet
The foe—it would not seem so hard to fall.
But on the fields at home when hope is fled
And only ghosts of former joys remain—
God pity those unknown who daily tread
The desolate, monotonous ways of pain,
And nightly bivouac with their hosts of dead
On silent battle-fields where hearts are slain!
