The National tribune., 1884-01-24

And his gaze he met MY own God wet would
have melted heart Of stone,
As he tried like a wounded bird to RISE and placed
his hand in my own;
So wan and faint, with his ruby-red blood, drank
deep by the pitiless sward.
While his breast with its Geeting, futtering breath
throbbed painfully slow and hard.
And he said in voice half smothered, though its
II wh1sperings thrills me yet
" think in moment more that 1 would have
stood on that parapet
For my feet have troeiden ife'S rugged ways, and
/ have been used to climb
Where some of the boys have slipped, / know, but
never missed a time.
But now never more will climb, and Sergeant,
when you
The men go up those breastworks there, just stoop
For though cannot make the charge and join the
cheers that rise,
/ may forget my pain to see the old flag kiss the
skies.'
Well. it was hard to treat him so-his poor limb
But / raised him to my shoulder and to the sur
geon bore,
And the boys who saw us coming each gave n
shoSt of joy,
Though some in curses clothed their prayers, for
him, our Drummer Boy.
When sped the news that 81 Fighting Joem had
saved the Union right
With his legions fresh from Lookout; and that
Thomas massed his might
And forced the rebel CENTER and our cheering ran
like wild,
And Sherman's heart was happy as the heart of a
little child;
When Grant from his lofty outlook saw our flags
by the hundred fly
Along the shores of Mission Ridge where'er he
cast his eye;
And our Drummer Boy heard the news and knew
the mighty battle done,
The valiant contest ended. and the glorious victory
won;
Then he smiled in all his agony beneath the SUR
geon's steel,
And joyed that his the blood to flow his country's
woes to heal;
And his bright, black eyes so yearning grew
strangely glad and wide
think that in that hour of joy he would have
gladly died.
All, ne'er again ranks were cheered by our lit
tie Drummer's drum,
When rub, rub, rub-adut-dub, we knew that our
hero had come;
Beat brisk at morn, beat sharp at eve rolled long
when 1t called to arms,
With rub, rub, rub-adub, dub mid the elamor of
rude alarmsI
Ali, meier again our black-eyed boy looked up in
the veterans face,
To waken thoughts of his children safe in mother
loves embrace!
o, meier again with tripping feet he ran with the
other boys
His budding hopes were cast away as they were
idle toys.
But ever in our hearts he dwells, with grace that
never is old,
For him the heart to duty wed can nevermore
grow cold!
His heart the heros heart we name the loyal, true
and brave
The heart Of the soldier hoar and gray of the lad
In his Southern gravel
And when they tell of their heroes and the laurels
they have won
OF the scars they doomed to carry of the deeds
that they have done;
OF the honor to be biding among the CHASTITY dead,
ha hursti shaIi
oerhead,
My heart goes back to Mission Ridge and the
Drummer Boy who lay
With his face TO the foe meath the enenys guns
In the charge OF that terrible day;
And l say chat the land that bears such sons is
crowned and lowered with all
The dear God giveth nations to stay them lest they
fall.
o. glory of Mission Ridge, stream on like the rose
ate light of morn
On the sons that now are living, on the sons that
are yet unborni
And cheers for comrades living and tears as
they pass awayi
And three times three for the Drummer Boy who
fought at the front that day.