MUSTERED OUT.
115
Weeks ago my comrades parted, the brave remnant tried and strong,
Who had stemmed the tide of battle and the wreck of war so long;
When I heard the well-known voices tremble as they said good-by,
Doubting, fearing,
Death still nearing,
It seemed bitter, hard to die.
Who had stemmed the tide of battle and the wreck of war so long;
When I heard the well-known voices tremble as they said good-by,
Doubting, fearing,
Death still nearing,
It seemed bitter, hard to die.
For I seemed to hear the greeting, seemed to see the welcoming eyes,
Waiting me beside the hearthstone under our New England skies,—
Waiting till the brown eyes faded, waiting till the cheeks grew white,
God, who readeth
All, and heedeth,
Knows how dark my thoughts that night.
Waiting me beside the hearthstone under our New England skies,—
Waiting till the brown eyes faded, waiting till the cheeks grew white,
God, who readeth
All, and heedeth,
Knows how dark my thoughts that night.
But 't is past I thank His mercy that the mists have flown away,
And within the purer dawning leading to the perfect day,
I can read His hidden meaning through the shadows wrapped about,
And within the purer dawning leading to the perfect day,
I can read His hidden meaning through the shadows wrapped about,
