Tuesday, July 7, 2009


I really have no comments tonight, but wanted to add this post as something a bit different than my previous entries. I just found this in an old book I was perusing and thought it to be a pretty touching sentiment, especially the engraving (which looks better in larger size, but i didn't want it to be too big here.)

From The Civil War in Song and Story. 1860-1865 by Frank Moore.
Photo on page 17 and poem on page 24

“You’ve donned the peerless uniform –
Of good old Uncle Sam “ –
Around my neck her arms she threw
And to her breast my own she drew –
With tears her fond eyes swam.

“You’re dearer to me than I thought –
Since in this steadfast hue
Your form was draped, its impress takes
A depth such as a hero’s makes –
All hail, my own true blue!

”Prouder am I to see you thus –
Though it preludes good-by –
Than were you crowned perchance a king
Whose name in action ne’er did ring,
Whse soul gives fame the lie.

“Your stature seems to gain in height
From your high motive’s aim;
And to such eminence my heart
Is lifted, I am strong to part –
Oh! To reserve were shame

“Go, save our country! She is first –
Stand guard until you fall;
Or till the danger overcome
Shall respite the alarum-drum –
I will delay recall.

“Go, where along the lurid front
The Union vanguards tramp!
Do your whole duty, danger spurn,
When Freedom’s laurelled, then return –
These arms shall be your camp!

“As I would ask, so you have done –
‘God shield you!’ is my charm;
Should you survive, redeem this kiss
And should you perish, one will miss
From life its sweetest balm.

“These tears attest the grief I feel –
God’s and my own true blue
For every one speed thou a shot,
When quietus the foe has got,
Valor for love may sue.”

So spoke my own brave girl, and fled,
Fearing her heart’s dread pain
Would traitor prove unto her will,
And rising with rebellious thrill,
Persuade me to remain.

To die for her were sweeter far
Than loved by less to live;
Such natures wear an aspect grand,
As with an unreserving band
They answer Duty’s “give!”

O woman! How much patriot fire
Thy breath has woke to flame!
How many heroes were not such
But for thy consecrating touch,
None less than God can name

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