Classic Poem

All quiet along the river now,
And winter reigneth there.
The ground is carpeted with snow,
And chill the evening air.
Above the snow-clad earth arise
The stones which mark the spots
Where rest the forms of those we prize,
Our martyred patriots.

On yonder highland stands to-night
The sentinel alone,
His musket gleaming in the light
Of the pale winter moon.
How oft to him at midnight hour,
Above the noble dead,
Doth Memory come with magic power
To speak of those who bled,—

Who fought in Freedom's sacred cause,
Beneath our banner bright,—
The symbol each true heart adores,—
The emblem of the right,—
And fell before the rebel host,
But won a pure renown,
Whose lustre never shall be lost,
A patriot martyr's crown!

“All quiet upon Potomac's shore!”
Soft may the river glide!
Life, with its conflicts, now is o'er
For heroes by its side.
But far on high, where never comes
The sound of ruthless war,
Those patriots found the saint's sweet home,
And meet with foes no more.

Each wild alarm, each whistling ball,
Each shrieking shell, is gone:
Henceforth their anthems rise and fall
Where gleams celestial morn.
And while upon the lonely shore
Their honored dust may rest,
Each Christian patriot evermore
With victory is blest.