An Old Man's Prayer

 
Full on his fair young brow beamed bright, —
That brow which an anxious mother would kiss
With a pure, deep feeling of heartfelt bliss;
And along the line of his comrades young,
To honor his toast, each hand upsprung:
In not one glass did the red wine gleam;
But all were filled from the crystal stream.
On the morrow, adown the street,
With trumpet’s blast and war-drum’s beat,
Firm and erect, with martial tread,
The flag of their Country overhead,
With brave, stout hearts, and patriot-song,
The Nation’s heroes go marching along.
And our soldier is there, marching forth
To join the bands of the loyal North;
To strike a blow for his Country dear,
And her trailing flag to again uprear.
Light is his heart; his faith is strong;
Bright gleams his sword as he moves along:
But the armor he wears shall serve him best
Is the shield of Temperance guarding his breast.