Goldsboro weekly argus. [volume] (Goldsboro, N.C.) 1885-1909, 1894-06-14
The Faded Jacket of Gray.

The following poem in prose
was written by Smith Clayton,
of Georgia, and dedicated to the
Ladies' Memorial Association Of
Atlanta:
Tile neigh of the iron horse
and the song of the spindle min
gle merrily, and, on eagle wing,
the new South sweeps to a great
and glorious future; while in her
weeds, with sad face and bowed
heart, the old South bends love
ingly over the sacred ruins OF
brave but bitter past. But the
South is still the South, and the
grief of the old shall never be
forgotten in the grandeur Of the
new, for between the two there
lies a memorial which binds, our
hearts to the past, cen while our
hands build the future:
1.-The Faded Jacket of Gray!
The violet'S breath is not SWeeter
than the memories by which lG
is hallowed-the shimmering
stars are not more splendid than
the glory amid which it was
folded! Bring it forth to-day.
With gentle hands smooth out
these precious folds. A thing
inanimate, it yet speaks with
most eloquent tongue. Its solid
front tells of the dust OF right
eous battle, and its ragged edges
voice the cruel scares of van
quished veterans. It tells the
solemn but grand story of thou
sands of bright swords which
sprang from their scarbards at
the call of duty. 1t tells Of the
fiery charge-the stubborn fight
the bleeding hero-the dead
patriot-the adroit retreat the
muffied drum-the sable plume
nodding above these God-like
men who gave, and gladly gave,
all that is best in life (save honor)
and life itself. for liberty. Ev-
ery button has its memory, both
dark and bright; every seam
images some patriots daring
deed; it's very silence is the
pathos of the honored dead.
I'm the land of the South the
Faded Jacket of gray is com
mon heritage freighted with a
common woe. It hangs alike in
the hut on the hillside and in the
mansion of the city. In many,
alas. how many homes, is it
hung upon the vacant chair, never
more to grace the form which
long ago filled a Southern sol
dier's grave! Its rustic is the
orphans plaintive cry, and DER
its blessing and its blight is
breathed the widows prayer!
Faded and worn. Yes, but
the gaudiest hue which tints the
the arch of Heaven is not more
bright than this same dim shade
which dims our eyes to-day, and
the tooth of Time but makes
nearer and dearer the good and
true which it's newnesS proudly
decked.
'.Old and threadbare What
matter: Honor wore it, love
folded it away, grief stands sen
tinel. Sad, sweet symbol-old
but still young, worn and yet
new-you live in the glory of {
grand principle immortal as the
white winged seraphs which cir
Gle the great white throne.
Look at it, and the majestic
form of Jackson rises to view
look at it, and the calm, noble
face of Lee peers kindly upol
you from among the buttons ant
the braid; mother, look at it, ant
the pale face of your dead sol
comes back from soldier
grave; son, gaze upon it, and th'
honored form of your dead fathe
seems to rise from the earth
wife, look upon it, and the fon'
husband who exchanged it for
shroud is once more before you
sister, look upon it, and one
again you seem to see the gentl
face of your loved and long-los
brother! Oh, murdered Hope
Oh, blessed Memory. Be the,
living or dead, all honor to tn
men who wore the faded JACKIE
of Gray. Palsied be the han
that would strike a single sta
from the crown of their eve
Frightening fame.
"Nor braver bled for brighte
land,
Nor brighter land had cause MOI
grand,
Nor cause chief like Leew