'Twas starry night upon the lonely field
Where battle had that day been waged.
Two men of God, on holy mission bent,
Sought out the living from among the dead.
And now they stand
Beside a manly form, outstretched, alone.
His helmet from his head had fallen. His hand
Still firmly grasped his keen but broken sword.
His face was white and cold; and, thinking he was gone,
They were just passing on (for time was precious),
When a faint sigh caught their attentive ears.
Life was still there! So bending down
They whispered in his ear most earnestly,
Yet with that hush and gentleness with which
We ever speak to a departing soul:
"Comrade! The blood of Jesus Christ, God's Son, cleanseth from every sin.”
The pale lips moved
And gently whispered, "HUSH!" And then they closed,
And life again seemed gone.
But yet once more
They whispered those thrice blessed words, in hope
To point the parting soul to Christ and heaven:
"Comrade! The precious blood of Jesus Christ can cleanse from every sin.”
Again the pale lips moved.
All else was still and motionless, for Death
Already had his fatal work half done.
But gathering up his quickly failing strength,
The dying soldier—dying victor!—said:
"Hush! Hear the angels call the muster roll!
I wait to hear my name!”
They spoke no more.
What need to speak again? For now full well
They knew on whom his dying hopes were fixed,
And what his prospects were.
So, hushed and still,
They, kneeling, watched.
And presently a smile,
As of most thrilling and intense delight,
Played for a moment on the soldier's face;
And with his one last breath he whispered: "HERE!”