THE TWO ARMIES

As Life's unending column pours,

Two marshalled hosts are seen,—

Two armies on the trampled shores

That Death flows black between.

One marches to the drum-beat's roll,

The wide-mouthed clarion's bray,

And bears upon a crimson scroll,

“Our glory is to slay.”

One moves in silence by the stream,

With sad, yet watchful eyes,

Calm as the patient planet's gleam

That walks the clouded skies.

Along its front no sabres shine,

No blood-red pennons wave;

Its banner bears the single line,

“Our duty is to save.”

For those no death-bed's lingering shade;

At Honor's trumpet-call,

With knitted brow and lifted blade

In Glory's arms they fall.

For these no clashing falchions bright,

No stirring battle-cry;

The bloodless stabber calls by night,—

Each answers, “Here am I!”

For those the sculptor's laurelled bust,

The builder's marble piles,

The anthems pealing o'er their dust

Through long cathedral aisles.

For these the blossom-sprinkled turf

That floods the lonely graves

When Spring rolls in her sea-green surf

In flowery-foaming waves.

Two paths lead upward from below,

And angels wait above,

Who count each burning life-drop's flow,

Each falling tear of Love.

Though from the Hero's bleeding breast

Her pulses Freedom drew,

Though the white lilies in her crest

Sprang from that scarlet dew,—

While Valor's haughty champions wait

Till all their scars are shown,

Love walks unchallenged through the gate,

To sit beside the Throne.