Poem by Francis Bret Harte

The Reveille

Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands,
  And of armed men the hum;
Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered
  Round the quick alarming drum,—
 Saying, "Come,
 Freemen, come!
Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum.

"Let me of my heart take counsel:
  War is not of life the sum;
Who shall stay and reap the harvest
  When the autumn days shall come?"
 But the drum
 Echoed, "Come!
Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn-sounding drum.

"But when won the coming battle,
  What of profit springs therefrom?
What if conquest, subjugation,
  Even greater ills become?"
 But the drum
 Answered, "Come!
You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee answering drum.

"What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder,
  Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
When my brothers fall around me,
  Should my heart grow cold and numb?"
 But the drum
 Answered, "Come!
Better there in death united, than in life a recreant.—Come!"

Thus they answered,—hoping, fearing,
  Some in faith, and doubting some,
Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming,
  Said, "My chosen people, come!"
 Then the drum,
 Lo! was dumb,
For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, "Lord, we come!"

1. Half an Hour before Supper
2. Don Diego of the South
3. The Latest Chinese Outrage
4. To a Sea-Bird
5. Grandmother Tenterden

Andrew Paterson The Reveille ("Trumpets of the Lancer Corps")

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