I see a sad procession, And I hear the sound of coming full-key’d bugles, All the channels of the city streets they’re flooding, As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring, And every blow of the great convulsive drums, Strikes me through and through.
For the son is brought with the father, (In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, Two veterans son and father dropt together, And the double grave awaits them.)
Now nearer blow the bugles, And the drums strike more convulsive, And the daylight o’er the pavement quite has faded, And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin’d, (’Tis some mother’s large transparent face, In heaven brighter growing.)
O strong dead-march you please me! O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me! O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! What I have I also give you.
The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.
Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice
Over the carnage rose prophetic a voice, Be not dishearten’d, affection shall solve the problems of freedom yet, Those who love each other shall become invincible, They shall yet make Columbia victorious.