OUR OLDEST FRIEND

1865

I GIVE you the health of the oldest friend That, short of eternity, earth can lend,-- A friend so faithful and tried and true That nothing can wean him from me and you.

When first we screeched in the sudden blaze Of the daylight's blinding and blasting rays, And gulped at the gaseous, groggy air, This old, old friend stood waiting there.

And when, with a kind of mortal strife, We had gasped and choked into breathing life, He watched by the cradle, day and night, And held our hands till we stood upright.

From gristle and pulp our frames have grown To stringy muscle and solid bone; While we were changing, he altered not; We might forget, but he never forgot.

He came with us to the college cla.s.s,-- Little cared he for the steward's pa.s.s!

All the rest must pay their fee, Put the grim old dead-head entered free.

He stayed with us while we counted o'er Four times each of the seasons four; And with every season, from year to year, The dear name Cla.s.smate he made more dear.

He never leaves us,--he never will, Till our hands are cold and our hearts are still; On birthdays, and Christmas, and New-Year's too, He always remembers both me and you.

Every year this faithful friend His little present is sure to send; Every year, wheresoe'er we be, He wants a keepsake from you and me.

How he loves us! he pats our heads, And, lo! they are gleaming with silver threads; And he 's always begging one lock of hair, Till our shining crowns have nothing to wear.

At length he will tell us, one by one, "My child, your labor on earth is done; And now you must journey afar to see My elder brother,--Eternity!"

And so, when long, long years have pa.s.sed, Some dear old fellow will be the last,-- Never a boy alive but he Of all our goodly company!

When he lies down, but not till then, Our kind Cla.s.s-Angel will drop the pen That writes in the day-book kept above Our lifelong record of faith and love.

So here's a health in homely rhyme To our oldest cla.s.smate, Father Time!

May our last survivor live to be As bald and as wise and as tough as he!

SHERMAN 'S IN SAVANNAH

A HALF-RHYMED IMPROMPTU

1865

LIKE the tribes of Israel, Fed on quails and manna, Sherman and his glorious band Journeyed through the rebel land, Fed from Heaven's all-bounteous hand, Marching on Savannah!

As the moving pillar shone, Streamed the starry banner All day long in rosy light, Flaming splendor all the night, Till it swooped in eagle flight Down on doomed Savannah!

Glory be to G.o.d on high!

Shout the loud Hosanna!

Treason's wilderness is past, Canaan's sh.o.r.e is won at last, Peal a nation's trumpet-blast,-- Sherman 's in Savannah!

Soon shall Richmond's tough old hide Find a tough old tanner!

Soon from every rebel wall Shall the rag of treason fall, Till our banner flaps o'er all As it crowns Savannah!

MY ANNUAL

1866

How long will this harp which you once loved to hear Cheat your lips of a smile or your eyes of a tear?

How long stir the echoes it wakened of old, While its strings were unbroken, untarnished its gold?

Dear friends of my boyhood, my words do you wrong; The heart, the heart only, shall throb in my song; It reads the kind answer that looks from your eyes,-- "We will bid our old harper play on till he dies."

Though Youth, the fair angel that looked o'er the strings, Has lost the bright glory that gleamed on his wings, Though the freshness of morning has pa.s.sed from its tone It is still the old harp that was always your own.

I claim not its music,--each note it affords I strike from your heart-strings, that lend me its chords; I know you will listen and love to the last, For it trembles and thrills with the voice of your past.

Ah, brothers! dear brothers! the harp that I hold No craftsman could string and no artisan mould; He shaped it, He strung it, who fashioned the lyres That ring with the hymns of the seraphim choirs.

Not mine are the visions of beauty it brings, Not mine the faint fragrance around it that clings; Those shapes are the phantoms of years that are fled, Those sweets breathe from roses your summers have shed.

Each hour of the past lends its tribute to this, Till it blooms like a bower in the Garden of Bliss; The thorn and the thistle may grow as they will, Where Friendship unfolds there is Paradise still.

The bird wanders careless while summer is green, The leaf-hidden cradle that rocked him unseen; When Autumn's rude fingers the woods have undressed, The boughs may look bare, but they show him his nest.

Too precious these moments! the l.u.s.tre they fling Is the light of our year, is the gem of its ring, So br.i.m.m.i.n.g with sunshine, we almost forget The rays it has lost, and its border of jet.

While round us the many-hued halo is shed, How dear are the living, how near are the dead!

One circle, scarce broken, these waiting below, Those walking the sh.o.r.es where the asphodels blow!

Not life shall enlarge it nor death shall divide,-- No brother new-born finds his place at my side; No t.i.tles shall freeze us, no grandeurs infest, His Honor, His Worship, are boys like the rest.

Some won the world's homage, their names we hold dear,-- But Friendship, not Fame, is the countersign here; Make room by the conqueror crowned in the strife For the comrade that limps from the battle of life!

What tongue talks of battle? Too long we have heard In sorrow, in anguish, that terrible word; It reddened the sunshine, it crimsoned the wave, It sprinkled our doors with the blood of our brave.

Peace, Peace comes at last, with her garland of white; Peace broods in all hearts as we gather to-night; The blazon of Union spreads full in the sun; We echo its words,--We are one! We are one!

ALL HERE

1867

IT is not what we say or sing, That keeps our charm so long unbroken, Though every lightest leaf we bring May touch the heart as friendship's token; Not what we sing or what we say Can make us dearer to each other; We love the singer and his lay, But love as well the silent brother.