October 26, 1864. Vol. 1. No. 4. Page 1
Missing! Missing, the record said,
But whether living, or whether dead,
No one knew, no one could tell.
They saw him with his sword in hand,
They heard him give the stern command
To “forward”! Charge!” then as the swell
Of waves that break along the beach,
They dashed into the deadly breach,
Their bayonets like a wave of steel!
Undaunted by the battle shock-
Shrouded in the cannon smoke,
They still pressed on for woe or weal.
Right up to the cannon’s breath,
Right up into the jaws of death,
They hewed their way with steel and lead.
Till when the tide of battle turned,
And up the east the round moon burned
To look upon a sea of dead.
The tide of battle may have swept
Him o’er the ditch – a prisoner, kept
Alive and guarded by the foe;
He may be wounded – suff’ring pain,
Uncared for, on the dreary plain
Wounded? Or missing? Dead? Ah, no!
If dead, he died a patriot’s death,
If dead, he used his latest breath
To urge the shattered column on --
The latest motion of his hand
To steady on his wavering band
To battle till the day was won.
O God! How is our suspense!
But great, O God our recompense
For all this sorrow blood and woe!
Our hope is sure; serene our faith
To battle on through Life and Death,
Till Victory crowns us, o’er the foe!