The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1892-04-21
"SoN OF A VETERAN
BY CAPT JACK CRAWFORD, "rHE POET SCOUT.
"a Memorial Day Recitation.l

BY CAPT. JACK CRAWFORD, 1.-THE POET SCOUT"
Son Of vctcranf Yes sir, and proud of the title,
too:
Proud that my sire, now sleeping here, once wore
the honored blue;
Proud of the record that he made in Dixies blood
hecked land;
Proud of the country such as he saved from the
wrccker's hand.
Proud of the starry flag that floats so gallan;ly
above
country reunited in bonds Of patriot love;
Pround of the blest assurance thai above those
cloudand banks,
My fathers soul now musters In the spirit soldier
ranks.
True, was but lad, SIR, when the battle summons
came.
And had no real conception of the patriotic flame
Which gowod with iurid lusier III each loyal
Northman's breast,
And drew them to the colors, my father with the
rest
But often in the evening, when the lamp was burn
ing dim.
My head upon my mothers knee, she'd talk to me
of him,
And In my youthful bosom grew patriot love as
bright
AS that which nerved my father in many a bloody
fight.
All through those years of carnage my mothers
Seemed the dread fear 10 mirror which In her heart
found place
Fear that her soldier husband in the battle front
Nigh: fall
And die amid the conflict. pierced by dsloyal
ball.
How eager she scanned the papers that brought
us news of the fight,
Her eyes would with loyal cleaning and patriot
fire be aght,
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 near the close OF The conflict the Of
battle came,
And in the long list of wounded appeared my dear
fathers name
With lips all trembling and bloodess. my mother
read this 10 me:
John Lane-gunshot wound in the ankle-ampu-
tated above the knee"
With n moan of piteous anguish she clasped me
close TO her breast,
And as 10 her throbbing bosom my boyish form
she pressed,
She cried 10 the God OF battles to with comforting
hand sustain
The dear one who far in the Southland lay wri,h-
ing in keenest pain.
My father came home on crutches. in his faded suit
OF blue,
And into his arms my mother with a cry of happi
ness fewi
Forgotten the roar of battle, forgotten the weeks
OF pain,
As he cried THANK God, old mother, live to
see you againi
You haven't as sound husband as you placed in
the hand. of God,
And sent to the front Of battle; for meath Mssis-
s:ppi's sod
left one good leg behind me, but It's loss I'll never
regret,
For dear old country Is safe, mother, and the
old flag is waving yet"
But the hardships and exposures through those
years of deadly strife.
The trials and the rgors which cling 10 the soldiers
life,
Had fastened their deadly clutches In my fathers
system, and
He became helpless cripple, scarce able TO lift
AT last by his loving comrades his body was hither
To await the reveiIle summons on the resurrection
morn,
And here, as sacred duty, on each Memorial
Day,
These wreaths OF beautiful flowers Ger his CHER |
ished form lay.
Son OF veteran7 Yes, sir, and glory In the
name;
The thought of my fathers valor sets my youthful
heart afisme
With the fires of patriotism. the same that filed
his breast,
When with his valorous comrades TO the battle
front he pressed.
A. nd n again in the future our country ehoud
threatened be
By hand of domestic traitor foeman from DER
the sea,
III spring to the front at the summons and try to
battle as brave
As the hero warrior sleeping meath flowers in this
houored grave.