My Favorite Poem

Where I came upon this poem, God only knows. It was years ago. I read it often because I find it has the ability to ignite my intense imagination. The first four lines should be enough to engage further reading. It is the one poem where I am "there." See if it does the same for you. I have committed an almost criminal act by breaking up the poem into segments, each segment hopefully to cause each reader a moment of pause. Yet, I'm not certain the original poem also had somewhat similar breaks. I have not been able to find the original poem again.   ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK ANONYMOUS The sun had set, and in the distant west The last red streaks had faded; night and rest Fell on the earth; stilled was the cannon's roar; And many a soldier slept to wake no more. 'Twas early spring-a calm and lovely night- The moon had flooded all the earth with light. On either side the Rappahannock lay The armies; resting till the break of day Should call them to renew the fight. So near Together were the camps that each could hear The other's sentry call. And now appear The blazing bivouac fires on every hill, And save the tramp of pickets all is still. Between those silent hills in beauty flows The Rappahannock. How its bosom glows! How all its sparkling waves reflect the light And add new glories to the starlit night! But hark! From Northern hill there steal along The strains of martial music mixed with song: "Star Spangled Banner, may'st thou ever wave, Over the land we shed our blood to save!" And still they sing those words: "Our cause is just. We'll triumph in the end: in God we trust: Star Spangled Banner, wave, forever wave, Over a land united, free and brave!" Scarce had this died away when along The river rose another glorious song: A thousand lusty throats the chorus sing: With "Rally Round the Flag," the hilltops ring. And well they sang. Each heart was filled with joy. From first in rank to little drummer-boy. The loud huzzas and wildest cheers were given, That seemed to cleave the air and reach to heaven. The Union songs, the loud and heartfelt cheers Fall in the Southern camp on listening ears. While talking at their scanty evening meal They pause and grasp their trusty blades of steel. Fearless they stand and ready for the fray; Such sounds can startle them, but not dismay. Alas! Those strains of music which of yore Could rouse their hearts are felt by them no more. When the last echo of the song had died And all was silent on the Northern side, There came from Southern hill, with gentle swell, The air of "Dixie," which was loved so well By every man that wore the coat of gray, And is revered and cherished to this day. "In Dixie's Land" they swore to live and die, That was their watchword, that their battle-cry. Then rose on high the wild Confederate yell, Resounding over every hill and dell. Cheer after cheer went up that starry night From men as brave as ever saw the light. Now all is still. Each side has played its part. How simple songs will fire a soldier's heart! But hark! O'er Rappahannock's stream there floats Another tune; but ah! How sweet the notes. Not such as lash men's passions into foam, But-richest gem of song-'tis "Home, Sweet Home!" Played by the band, it reached the very soul, And down the veteran's cheeks the tear-drops stole. On either side the stream, from North and South, Men who would march up to the cannon's mouth Wept now like children. Tender hearts and true Were beating 'neath those coats of gray and blue. The sentry stopt and rested on his gun, While back to home his thoughts unhindered run. He thought of loving wife and children there Deprived of husband's and of father's care. And stripling lads, scarce strong enough to bear The weight of saber or of knapsack, tried To stop their tears with foolish, boyish pride. They might as well have sought to stop the tide! Through both those hostile camps the music stole And stirred each soldier to his inmost soul. From North and South, in sympathy, there rose A shout tremendous; forgetting they were foes, Both armies joined and shouted with one voice That seemed to make the very heavens rejoice. Sweet music's power! One chord doth make us wild, But change the strain, we weep as little child. Touch yet another, men charge the battery-gun, And by those martial strains a victory's won! But there's one strain that friends and foes will win, One magic touch that makes the whole world kin; No heart so cold, but will, tho far it roam, Respond with tender thrill to "Home, Sweet Home!"