Across The Lines
Left for dead? I—Charlie Coleman,
On the field we won—and lost,
Like a dog; the ditch my death-bed
My pillow but a log across.
Helpless hangs my arm beside me,
Drooping lies my aching head;
How strange it sounded when that soldier,
Passing, spoke of me as "dead."
Dead? and here—where yonder banner
Flaunts its scanty group of stars,
And that rebel emblem binds me
Close within those bloody bars.
Dead? without a stone to tell it,
Nor a flower above my breast!
Dead? where none will whisper softly,
"Here a brave man lies at rest!"
Help me, Thou, my mother's helper,—
Jesus, Thou who biding here,
Loved me like an earthly mother,
Be thou still to aid me near.
Give me strength to totter yonder,
Hold me up till o'er me shines
The flag of Union—there she promised
To meet me, just beyond the lines.
Well I know how she will wander
Where a woman's foot may stray,
Looking with those eyes so tender
Where the poor boys wounded lay.
How her hand will bring them water,
For her own boy Charlie's sake,
And when dying bid them whisper,
"I pray the Lord my soul to take."
Ah! I stand on foot but feebly,
And the blood runs very fast,
Yet by fence and bush I'll stagger
Till the rebel lines be past.
"Courage, Charlie! twist it tighter,—
The tourniquet about your arm;
Be a man—don't faint and shiver
When the lifetide trickles warm."
Faint and week,—still coming, mother,
Walking some, but creeping more,
Fearing lest the watchful sentry
Stops the heart-beat,—slow before
Stay—with fingers ruddy dabbled
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poem by Ethel Lynn Beers from Pen Pictures of the War (1864)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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