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ARK! I hear the tramp of thousands,

And of arméd men the hum; Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick-alarming drum

Saying: “Come,

Freemen, come! Ere your heritage be wasted,” said the quick-alarming


“Let me of my heart take counsel :

War is not of life the sum ;
Who shall stay and reap the barvest
When the autumn days shall come?"

But the drum

Echoed : Come ! Death shall reap the braver harvest,” said the solemn. sounding drum.

The Réveille


“But when won the coming battle,

What of profit springs therefrom?
What if conquest, subjugation,
Even greater ills become?

But the drum

Answered : “Come! You must do the sum to prove it,” said the Yankee

answering drum.

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“What if, 'mid the cannon's thunder,

Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
When my brothers fall around nie,
Should my heart grow cold and numb?"

But the drum

Answered : “Come! Better there in death united than in life a recreant


Thus they answered—hoping, fearing,

Some in faith and doubting some, Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, Said : “My chosen people, come!

Then the drum,

Lo! was dumb; For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, an

swered : “Lord, we come!”

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[The author of this poem was a sergeant in the 140th regiment of New York volunteers, who died at the age of 25 years, at Potomac Station, Va., December 28, 1862. -EDITOR.]

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THE morning is cheery, my boys, arouse !

The dew shines bright on the chestnut boughs,
And the sleepy mist on the river lies,
Though the east is flushing with crimson dyes.

Awake! awake! awake!

O’er field and wood and brake,
With glories newly born,
Comes on the blushing morn.

Awake! awake!

You have dreamed of your homes and friends all

night ; You have basked in your sweethearts' smiles so


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Come, part with them all for a while again,-
Be lovers in dreams; when awake, be men,

Turn out! turn out! turn out !

You have dreamed full long, I know.
Turn out! turn out! turn out!
The east is all aglow.

Turn out! turn out !

From every valley and hill they come
The clamoring voices of fife and drum ;
And out in the fresh, cool morning air
The soldiers are swarming everywhere.
Fall in! fall in ! fall in !

Every man in his place
Fall in ! fall in ! fall in !
Each with a cheerful face.

Fall in ! fall in !

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IT ishawikenedores corpse, full dry and wan,

Finds here its last repose,
Its lustre dulled, its form and softness crushed,
The tender life with which its petals flushed,
And all its soul of subtle fragrance gone;

A primal rose that bloomed
Among the kindling brands, as white as frost,

Where Zillah stood undoomed,
Or from Mahomet's forehead fluttered fair
To earth, when Al Borak cleft through the air
In flight to heaven, might leave so frail a ghost.

The poet moralist
Has ever taken sombre joy to sing

Upon a theme so trist,
And write in dust of roses lessons grim-
That pleasures must be snatched ere they grow dim
For germs of death in folds of beauty cling;

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