A Dirge For McPherson

Arms reversed and banners creped —

  Muffled drums;

Snowy horses sable-draped —

  McPherson comes.

      But, tell us, shall we know him more,

      Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?

Brave the sword upon the pall —

  A gleam in gloom;

So a bright name lighteth all

  McPherson's doom.

Bear him through the chapel-door —

  Let priest in stole

Pace before the warrior

  Who led. Bell —toll!

Lay him down within the nave,

  The lesson read —

Man is noble, man is brave,

  But man's — a weed.

Take him up again and wend

  Graveward, nor weep:

There's a trumpet that shall rend

  This Soldier's sleep.

Pass the ropes the coffin round,

  And let descend;

Prayer and volley — let it sound

  McPherson's end.

      True fame is his, for life is o'er —

      Sarpedon of the mighty war.

James McPherson was 35 years old and the commanding general of the Union Army of the Tennessee when he blundered into a Confederate raiding party during the Battle of Bald Hill and was killed by a shot in the back as he tried to return to the safety of his own lines.