Poems Class of 29 (1851-1889) | Page 8

the voice of your past.
Ah, brothers! dear brothers! the harp that I hold
No craftsman could
string and no artisan mould;
He shaped it, He strung it, who
fashioned the lyres
That ring with the hymns of the seraphim choirs.

Not mine are the visions of beauty it brings,
Not mine the faint
fragrance around it that clings;
Those shapes are the phantoms of
years that are fled,
Those sweets breathe from roses your summers
have shed.
Each hour of the past lends its tribute to this,
Till it blooms like a
bower in the Garden of Bliss;
The thorn and the thistle may grow as
they will,
Where Friendship unfolds there is Paradise still.
The bird wanders careless while summer is green,
The leaf-hidden
cradle that rocked him unseen;
When Autumn's rude fingers the
woods have undressed,
The boughs may look bare, but they show
him his nest.
Too precious these moments! the lustre they fling
Is the light of our
year, is the gem of its ring,
So brimming with sunshine, we almost
forget
The rays it has lost, and its border of jet.
While round us the many-hued halo is shed,
How dear are the living,
how near are the dead!
One circle, scarce broken, these waiting below,

Those walking the shores where the asphodels blow!
Not life shall enlarge it nor death shall divide,--
No brother new-born
finds his place at my side;
No titles shall freeze us, no grandeurs
infest, .
His Honor, His Worship, are boys like the rest.
Some won the world's homage, their names we hold dear,--
But
Friendship, not Fame, is the countersign here;
Make room by the
conqueror crowned in the strife
For the comrade that limps from the
battle of life!
What tongue talks of battle? Too long we have heard
In sorrow, in
anguish, that terrible word;
It reddened the sunshine, it crimsoned the
wave,
It sprinkled our doors with the blood of our brave.

Peace, Peace comes at last, with her garland of white;
Peace broods in
all hearts as we gather to-night;
The blazon of Union spreads full in
the sun;
We echo its words,--We are one! We are one!
ALL HERE
1867
IT is not what we say or sing,
That keeps our charm so long unbroken,

Though every lightest leaf we bring
May touch the heart as
friendship's token;
Not what we sing or what we say
Can make us
dearer to each other;
We love the singer and his lay,
But love as
well the silent brother.
Yet bring whate'er your garden grows,
Thrice welcome to our smiles
and praises;
Thanks for the myrtle and the rose,
Thanks for the
marigolds and daisies;
One flower erelong we all shall claim,
Alas!
unloved of Amaryllis--
Nature's last blossom-need I name
The
wreath of threescore's silver lilies?
How many, brothers, meet to-night
Around our boyhood's covered
embers?
Go read the treasured names aright
The old triennial list
remembers;
Though twenty wear the starry sign
That tells a life has
broke its tether,
The fifty-eight of 'twenty-nineGod
bless THE
Boys!--are all together!
These come with joyous look and word,
With friendly grasp and
cheerful greeting,--
Those smile unseen, and move unheard,
The
angel guests of every meeting;
They cast no shadow in the flame

That flushes from the gilded lustre,
But count us--we are still the
same;
One earthly band, one heavenly cluster!
Love dies not when he bows his head
To pass beyond the narrow
portals,--
The light these glowing moments shed
Wakes from their
sleep our lost immortals;
They come as in their joyous prime,


Before their morning days were numbered,--
Death stays the envious
hand of Time,--
The eyes have not grown dim that slumbered!
The paths that loving souls have trod
Arch o'er the dust where
worldlings grovel
High as the zenith o'er the sod,--
The cross above
the sexton's shovel!
We rise beyond the realms of day;
They seem
to stoop from spheres of glory
With us one happy hour to stray,

While youth comes back in song and story.
Ah! ours is friendship true as steel
That war has tried in edge and
temper;
It writes upon its sacred seal
The priest's
/ubique--omnes--semper/!
It lends the sky a fairer sun
That cheers
our lives with rays as steady
As if our footsteps had begun
To print
the golden streets already!
The tangling years have clinched its knot
Too fast for mortal strength
to sunder;
The lightning bolts of noon are shot;
No fear of evening's
idle thunder!
Too late! too late!--no graceless hand
Shall stretch its
cords in vain endeavor
To rive the close encircling band
That made
and keeps us one forever!
So when upon the fated scroll
The falling stars have all descended,

And, blotted from the breathing roll,
Our little page of life is ended,

We ask but one memorial line
Traced on thy tablet, Gracious
Mother
"My children. Boys of '29.
In pace. How they loved each
other!"
ONCE MORE
ONCE MORE
1868
"Will I come?" That is pleasant! I beg to inquire
If the gun that I
carry has ever missed fire?
And which was the muster-roll-mention
but one--
That missed your old comrade who carries the gun?

You see me as always, my hand on the lock,
The cap on the nipple,
the hammer full cock;
It is rusty, some tell me; I heed not