'TWAS at the dying of the day, The darkness grew so still The drowsy pipe of evening birds Was hushed upon the hill. Athwart the shadows of the vale Slumbered the men of might, And one lone sentry paced his rounds To watch the camp that night. A grave and solemn man was he, With deep and somber brow; The dreamful eyes seemed hoarding up Some unaccomplished vow. The wistful glance peered o'er the plain Beneath the starry light, And with the murmured name of God, He watched the camp that night. The future opened unto him Its grand and awful scroll— Manassas and the Valley march Came heaving o'er his soul; Richmond and Sharpsburg thundered by, With that tremendous fight That gave him to the angel host Who watched the camp that night. We mourn for him who died for us With one resistless moan, While up the Valley of the Lord He marches to the Throne! He kept the faith of men and saints Sublime and pure and bright; He sleeps—and all is well with him Who watched the camp that night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JACOBITE'S TOAST (TO AN OFFICER IN THE ARMY) by JOHN BYROM THE WOOING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SPRING AND FALL: TO A YOUNG CHILD by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS RIDDLE: A CANDLE by MOTHER GOOSE EXPLANATION by VIRGINIA A. ALLIN TO MR. BOWRING ON HIS POETICAL TRANSLATIONS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |