THE PICKET.
Slow across the dull Potomac fades the dim November light,
And the darkness, like a mantle, folds the tented field from sight;
In the shadowed wood beside me breaks the wind with quiv'ring moan,
Floating, sighing,
Falling, dying,
As I keep my watch alone.
And the darkness, like a mantle, folds the tented field from sight;
In the shadowed wood beside me breaks the wind with quiv'ring moan,
Floating, sighing,
Falling, dying,
As I keep my watch alone.
Forward, backward, stern and fearless, till the moonbeam's silver ray
Breaks in many a gleaming arrow from my bayonet's point away;
So I pace the picket lonely, while apart from mortal sight
Watch I'm keeping
With the sleeping
Loved ones far away to-night.
Breaks in many a gleaming arrow from my bayonet's point away;
So I pace the picket lonely, while apart from mortal sight
Watch I'm keeping
With the sleeping
Loved ones far away to-night.
