May 10, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 32. Page 4
Out of my brazen throat each morn
I sound the call at the break of day.
And my hollow notes on the wind are borne
High over the hills and far away;
But first they wind through the drowsy camp,
Then on through the valley and over the hills,
By field and river and wood they go
Till the mellow music the wide air fills.
The trooper starts from his bed on the ground
Where all night long in sleep he lay;
The war-horse neighs when he hears the sound
Float on through the camp at the dawn of day;
And the trooper buckles against his side
The trusty blade he has worn so long;
And away over river and field and wood
Wind the mellow notes of my morning song.
The wild bird hears it within his nest
High up in the tops of the tall pine-trees,
As he pours from out of his swelling breast
His own sweet song on the wandering breeze—
Then I call aloud from my hollow lungs,
“To horse! To horse!” and the sabres clang,
And the wide woods echo as if through their breadth
A thousand clattering anvils rang.
Then Forward, and over the rugged way
Sound the clang of the sabres, the horses loud tramp
The sun looks out from the halls of day,
But views no longer a waking camp;
And out of my brazen throat I fling
A mellow greeting, so loud and clear,
That it rings through the misty vales and wakes
The slumbering echoes afar and near.
But louder than all are the notes I sound
When the order is given to charge the foe;
The war-horse spurns with his hoof the ground,
And many a gallant trooper lies low
In the fiery onset’s terrible shock,
When the dumb earth seems to hold its breath,
And eyes that kindled with sudden fire
Are fixed in the glassy stare of death.
But a louder blast shall be heard one day
Than any which sounds from my hollow throat
High over the hills and far away
Thro’ the realms of space the song shall float;
But before the angel shall sound that call
War and famine and hate shall cease,
And the earth, with her fruits and smiling flowers
Shall bloom through a thousand years of peace.