San Marcos free press. [volume] (San Marcos, Tex.) 1877-1892, 1885-06-18
NOT ON THE BATTLE FIELD.
pY JOHN PIERpONT

by JOHN PIERpoNT.
'.To fall on the battlefield, fighting for my
dear country, that would not be ard."--
Tile Neiqh6ors.
o, no, no-let me lilo
Not on field of battle, when die
Let not the iron tread
OF the mad war-horse crush my helmed
head; Il
Nor let the reeking knife,
That have drawn against a brothers life,
Be in my hand when death
Thunders along and tramples me beneath
His heavy squadron's heels,
Or CORY felloes of his cannons wheels.
From such dying bed,
Though DER it float the stripes of white
and red, N-~T'
And the bald eagle brings
The clustered stars upon his wide spread
wings,
To sparkle in my sight,
o, never let my spirit take her fight
I know that beauty's eye
Is all the brighter where gay pennants fly,
And braZen helmets dance,
And sunshine flashes on the lifted lance
I know that bards have sung,
And people shouted till the welkin rung
In honor of the brave
Who on the battlefield have found grave:
I know that DER their bones
Have grateful hands piled monumental
stones.
Some of these piles I've seen j:
The one at Lexington, upon the green
Where the first blood was shed,
And to my country's independence led
And many others on our shore,
The "Battle Monument" at Baltimore,
And that on Bunker's Hill.
Ay, and abroad, few more famous still
Thy "tomb" Themistocles,
That looks out yet upon the Gre clan seas
And which the waters kiss
That issues from the gulf of Salamis
And thine, too, I have seen,
Thy mound of earth, Patroclus, robed ii
green,
That like natual knoll,
Sheep climb and nibble over as they stroll
Watched by some turbaned boy,
Upon the margin of the plain of Troy.
Such honors grace the bed.
1 know, whereon the warrior lays his head
And hears, as life ebbs out,
The conquered flying and the conqueror''
shout
But as his eye grows dim,
What is column or mound to him
What to the parting soul,
The mellow note of bugles? What the rol
| OF drums No, let me die
Where the blue heaven bends DER me lov
ingly,
And the soft summer air,
AS it goes by me stirs my long White hair
And from my forehead ,ireI
The death dam /, as it gatleri, an the skies
Seem waiting toreceiye
My soul 70 their clear depths. Or let mt
This world when round my bed
Wife, children. weeping friends are gathered
And the calm voice of prayer
And holy hymning shall my soul prepare,
10 go and be at rest
With kindred spirits--spirits who have
blessed
The human brotherhood
BY labors, cares and counsels for their good
In my dying hour,
When riches, fame and honor have no power
To bear the spirit up,
Or from my lips to turn aside the cup
That all must drink at last,
o, let me draw refreshment from the past
Then let my soul run back
With peace and joy, along my earthly track
And see that all the seeds
That 1 have scattered there, in virtuous
deeds,
Have sprung up. and have given
Already, fruits of which to taste in heaven
And though no grassy mound
Or granite pile says tits heroic ground
Where my remains repose,
Still will hope-vain hope, perhaps-tha
those
Whom have striven to Bless
The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless,
May stand around my grave,
With the the poor prisoner and the poorest
slave,
And breathe an humble prayer
That they may die like him whose bones are
mouldering there.