Phantom Footsteps
Childish foosteps, just behind her,
Softly patter on the green.
Back she glances; tears may blind her,
But no little one is seen.
Blanched, as by an ill appalling,
Home in terror hastens she,
While a baby voice is calling,
"Mother! mother! wait for me."
Phantom footsteps! hear them
falling (falling, falling),
falling (falling, falling)
Now, wherever she may be!
(hear footsteps falling!)
While a baby voice is
call- (calling, calling,)
-ing, (calling, calling,)
"Mother! mother! wait for me."
Sobbing still, but never lagging,
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Days When We Were Young
Sister! Sister! don't you remember
The days when we were young?
The long, long days, with a light and a shade
Like the pearls of a necklace strung,
Like the pearls of a necklace strung?
They are gone, with all our yesterdays --
We seek their like in vain;
But we will shed no tears for them
While the bright todays remain,
While the bright todays remain.
Sister! Sister! don't you remember
The days when we were young?
The homely house in the fat, far away,
Where the love of our childhood clung,
Where the love of our childhood clung?
There is naught to mark that sacred spot,
Save now the beaten loam;
Yet distant altars have we rear'd
In the bless-ed name of home,
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Our Captain's Last Words
Where the foremost flag was flying,
Pierce'd by manny a shot and shell,
Where the bravest men were dying,
There our gallant captain fell.
"Boys! you follow now another;
Follow till the foe shall yield;"
Then he whisper'd, "Tell my mother
Stephen died upon the field."
"Mother!"
"Moth er!"
"Stephen died upon the field."
Through the battle they bore him,
But his words were growing wild;
Heeding not the scenes before him,
Stephen was once more a child.
"Ah, she comes! there is no other
Speaks my name with such a joy;
Press me to your bosom, mother,
Call my still your darling joy."
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Come Back to the Farm!
Brother, come back! come back!
Dear brother, what can be the charm,
That holds you so strong -- that keeps you so long
Away from your father's able farm?
Poor Father, he tells how he needs you --
And would it be more than is due.
His labors to share, his burdens to bear,
Who once bore your burdens for you!
'Tis the voice of your sister -- she calls you,
In tones both of love and alarm!
"By dead mother's prayers -- by father's gray hairs --
Dear brother, come back to the farm."
Father, tho' years ago
The ablest and strongest of men,
Is failing at last -- you know he has past
The milestone of three-score and ten.
He's feeble, he's trembling, he's lonely,
Who once was so fearless and brave;
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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The Mystic Veil
When the shadows take their nightly places,
When departing light is faint and pale,
Then in my chamber gather phantom faces,
Gazing thro' the mystic veil.
One there is with features so familiar,
Glimpse of her give[s] my pulse a start;
Oh! tell me truely is it you, love,
Come to cheer my lonly heart?
Come one step nearer! (One step nearer!)
one shade clearer? (one shade clearer!)
Breath on word before we part; (before we part;)
And tell me--truly it is you, love,
Come to cheer my lonely heart?
When my song, in lonely notes ascending,
Vainly bids my sadden'd soul rejoin [rejoice?],
Methinks I hear a murmur'd alto blending:
Is it really your sweet voice?
Answer now, if only by a whisper;
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Take Them Away! They'll Drive Me Crazy
Riding in the Park, or down town shopping
At the Matinee, or singing in the choir
Everywhere a dazzling blaze of beauty
Blinds my eyes and sets my soul afire
How my heart thumps and how my head whirls!
Don't you look this way, beautiful girls!
Oh, take them away, they'll drive me crazy!
Oh! the saucy, pretty, winnning, witty, mischief-loving girls!
How my heart thumps and how my head whirls!
Don't you look this way, beautiful girls!
Oh, take them away, they'll drive me crazy!
Oh! the saucy, pretty, winnning, witty, mischief-loving girls!
As I sit beside them, charming creatures,
Little do they know how I tempted to
Throw my arms around their necks, and kiss them!
Though, of course, I know it wouldn't do.
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Uncle Joe's Hail Columbia
Uncle Joe comes home a singing,
Hail, Columby!
Glorious times de Lord is bringin' --
Now let me die.
Fling the chains into the ribber --
Lay de burden by;
Dar is one who will delibber --
Now let me die.
Ring de Bells in eb'ry steeple!
Raise the Flag on high!
De Lord has come to Sabe the people --
Now let me die.
Bressed days, I lib to see dem,
Hail Columby!
I hab drawn a breff of freedom --
Now let me die.
Ninety years I bore the burden,
Den he heard me cry;
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Grafted Into the Army
Our Jimmy has gone for to live in a tent,
they have grafted him into the Army,
he finally puckered up courage and went,
when they grafted him into the Army.
I told them the child was too young, alas!
At the captains forequarters, they said he would pass,
they'd train him up well in the Infantry class,
so they grafted him into the Army.
Oh, Jimmy, farewell! Your brothers fell way down in Alabammy;
I though they would spare a lone widder's heir,
but they grafted him into the Army.
Dressed up in his unicorn, dear little chap,
they have grafted him into the Army;
it seems but a day since he sot in my lap,
but they grafted him into the Army.
And these are the trousies he used to wear,
them very same buttons, the patch and the tear;
but Uncle Sam gave him a bran' new pair
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Washington and Lincoln
Come, happy people! Oh come let us tell
The story of Washinton and Lincoln!
History's pages can never excel
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Down through the ages an anthem shall go,
Bearing the honors we gladly bestow--
Till every nation and language shall know
The story of Washington and Lincoln:
Who gave us independence,
On our continent and sea
Who saved the glorious Union!
And set a people free!
This is the story--
Oh happy are we--
The story of Washington and Lincoln.
Parents to children shall tell with delight,
The story of Washington and Lincoln;
Free born and freed men together recite
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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Brave Boys Are They!
Heavily falls the rain;
Wild are the breezes tonight;
But 'neath the roof, the hours as they fly,
Are happy and calm and bright.
Gathering round our fireside,
Tho' it be summer time,
We sit and talk of brothers abroad
Forgetting the midnight chime
Brave boys are they!
Gone at their country's call;
And yet, and yet we cannot forget
That many brave boys must fall.
Under the homestead roof
Nestled so cozy and warm,
While soldiers sleep, with little or naught
To shelter them from the storm.
Resting on grassy couches,
Pillow'd on hillocks damp;
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poem by Henry Clay Work
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