Classic Poem

He bears no wounds on each shapely limb,
No scar on his sun-browned cheek,
The crash of the bullets have left to him
No tremor of nerves grown weak;
And yet he has lost, O God, how much,
Of all that is dear to a man! —
The strength to say " No " to the tempter's touch,
And the will to arise from his ban.

" He fought for the flag? " Aye, fought with his might,
Though a boy with a beardless face,
And his breath was aflame as he sprang to the fight,
Though his lips wore a nameless grace.
Who saw him are sure he would freely have given
His life for his country's weal;
He sprang to the breach when the line was riven,
As if with his body to heal.

None ever beheld his back to the foe,
None heard a complaint or a sigh;
He was glad he could march with the serried row,
He was glad he could dare to die;
But the heat and the cold, and the hunger and thirst,
They warred with the shot and shell, —
And the lad found a balm in the cup accursed
For the woes of a wilder hell

Friend, give him a hand; he has given for you
The whole that a man can give
Who yet must toil and yet must do
What little he may to live;
He laid his hopes of a lifetime down
When he donned the sword that day,
And put off the student's cap and gown
To follow the troops away.

You stood heaping gold in the market-place;
He scaled to the peaks of war; —
Now pause as you look in his war-worn face,
And say whose the honors are!
And give him a hand as he gropes alone —
A hand that is warm and true —
As God who sits on His judgment throne
Shall judge betwixt him and you.