Upon countenances flashed the lights of battle,
Flickering luminance from each barrage,
When nowhither a soldier emerged – filthy and addled,
His gray mended britches like a montage;
Chanting on that eventide in June,
A magnetic psalm, a spellbinding tune.
The battles were ending late that day,
Shots of hostility lingering in air,
The Rebs proudly stood but without delay,
Bowed their heads with the greatest of care;
For he continued with that glorious hymn,
Singing, it seemed, on a whim.
The twelfth of June and dying near,
On the bluffs of Chickahominy,
They gracefully stilled for they could hear,
The celestial sounds – beneath a tree;
Rebs in unison chimed right in,
The thankful lyrics as he sang again.
“Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow,”
They all began to loudly sing with appreciative cries,
“Praise Him, all creatures here below,”
Tears of gratitude blurring their eyes;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Ron
Powerful poem and thought provoking. Excellent.
Blessings,
Linda+
Cheers,
Dan