An Old Man's Prayer

 
The glittering emblems his shoulders bear
Bid him for strife and for peril prepare;
Bid him go forth at his Country’s call,
With her banner to triumph, or on it to fall.
A moment’s pause, as with ready hand
The waiter hurries, at command,
To clear the table, and, instead
Of the rich, choice viands thickly spread,
Ranges dark bottles and cruses, which show
Marks of long years in damp vaults below.
The richest juices age can display
Are quickly spread in tempting array.
Wines of Bordeaux and Seville are there,
With liquors and cordials sparkling and rare;
And bottles are opened, and glasses are filled.
When all in a moment the tumult is stilled,
As he who presides with dignified grace
High raises his goblet, and stands in his place: —
“I give you, friends, no warrior’s name
Your hearts to thrill, your blood to flame;
No toast to beauty shall my lips repeat,
Where we to-night in sacred friendship meet
To part with one, who, in our boyhood’s days,
Earnest and true, won all our love and praise;
Who, on the morrow, plays the hero’s part,
And seeks the battle with a loyal heart.
His health I give with an earnest prayer,
That, while on his mission of peril and care,
Success may be his, and, by deeds renowned,
He may meet us again with laurels crowned.”
All glasses are raised, when a gentle hand
Is heard at the door – all silent stand
As it slowly opens, and into the light
An old man steps, his features bright:
The long white hairs o’er his shoulders stream;
Like silver threads in the warm rays beam.
Wrinkled his brow, and pale his face,
Wasted his form, and tottering his pace,
Shrunken his cheek; but the eye above
Tells of gentleness, kindliness, love.
And silent stand all as he slowly seeks
A place near the table, and gently speaks: —
“Young men, but a moment I check your mirth,
And bring you back to the common earth.