The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1892-06-15
"SON OF A VETERAN"
BY CAPT, JACK CRAWFORD, THE POET
SCOUT"

Son of Veteran? Yes, sir m proud OF the tit
le too;
Proud that my sire, now sleeping here, once
wore the honored blue;
Proud of the record that he made in Dixie's
blood -fecked land.
Proud of the country such as he saved from the
wrecker's hand.
Proud of the starry flag that floats so CALAMITY
above
A country reunited in bonds Of patriotic love;
Proud Of the best assurance tina. above those
cloudland banks,
My fathers soul now masters in the spirit sold
Yer ranks.
True was but lad, sir, when the battle sum-
mons came.
And had no real conception Of the patriotic
flame
Which glowed with livid luster in each royal
N-'n~-~..'- -~o.
And drew them to the colors my father with the.
rest.
But often in the evening, when sthe lamp was
burning dim.
My head upon my mothers knee, she'd talk to
me Of him.
And in my youthful bosom grew patriotic love
as bright
As that which nerved my father in many bloody
fight.
All through those years of carnage my mothers
gentle face
Seemed the dread fear to mirror which in her
heart found place
Fear that her soldier husband in the battle front
might fall
And die amid the conflict, pierced by disloya-
How eager she scanned The papers that brought
us news of the fight,
Her eyes would with loyal cleaning and patriot
ic fire be alght,
AS she read how the corps had never for single
moment swerved-
The gallant old Fifteenth Corps, sir, in which my
father served.
One day nesr the close of the conflict the news
Of n battle came,
And in the long list Of wounded appeared my
dear fathers name
With lips all trembling and bloodless, my moth
erread this to me:
John Lane-gunshot wound in the aukle-am
putated above the Knee
Witha moanaot pisions angugh she clasped me
close to her breast,
And as to her throbbing bosom my boyish form
she pressed,
She cried to the God of battles to with comfort
ing hand sustain
The dear one who far in the Southland lay writh
ing in koenest pain.
My father came home on crutches, in his faded
suit of blue,
And into his arms my mother with cry of hap-
piness few;
Forgotten the roar of battle, forgotten tho weeks
of pain,
As he cried: Thank God. old mother, live to
see you again!
You haven't as sound husband as you placed
in the hands of God,
And sent to the front of battle, for meath Mis-
sissippis sod
| left one good leg behind me, but its loss I'll
never regret,
For our dear old country is safe mother and
the old fagis waving yet."
But the hardships and exposures through those
years of deadly strife,
The trials and the .rigors which cling to the
soldiers life,
Had fastened their deadly clutches in my fathers
system, and
He became helpless cripple, scarce able to lift
hand.
At last by his loving comrades his body was
hither borne,
Toawait the reveille summons on the resurreet.
ion morn.
And here as a sacred duty, on each Memorial
Day,
These wreaths OF beautiful flowers oer his cher
ished form lay.
Son of a veteran? Yes sir; aud glory IN tn,
name;
The thought of my fathers valor sets my youth
full heart sfame
With the fires of patronism the same that filled
his breast,
When with his valoruus comrades to the battl,
front he pressed.
And if again in the future our country should
theatened be
By the hand of domestic tratots or foemen from
DER the sea-
: I'll spring to the front at the summons, and II
to battle as brave
As the hero warrior sleeping meath flowers in hii