The Picket Guard

``ALL quiet along the Potomac to-night!"

Except here and there a stray picket

Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,

By a rifleman hid in the thicket.

'Tis nothing! a private or two now and then

Will not count in the news of a battle;

Not an officer lost, only one of the men

Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night!

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;

And their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,

And the light of their camp-fires are gleaming.

A tremulous sigh, as a gentle night-wind

Through the forest leaves slowly is creeping;

While the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,

Keep guard o'er the army sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread

As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,

And thinks of the two on the low trundel bed,

Far away, in the cot on the mountain.

His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim,

Grows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,

And their mother--"may heaven defend her!"

The moon seems to shine forth as brightly as then--

That night, when the love, yet unspoken,

Leaped up to his lips, and when low-murmured vows

Were pledged to be ever unbroken.

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,

He dashes off tears that are welling;

And gathers the gun closer up to his breast

As if to keep down his heart's swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree,

And his footstep is lagging and weary;

Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,

Towards the shades of the forest so dreary.

Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves?

Was it the moonlight so wondrously flashing?

It looked like a rifle: "Ha! Mary, good-by!"

And his life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

"All quiet along the Potomac to-night!"

No sound save the rush of the river;

While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,

And the picket's off duty forever!

Ethyl Lynn Beers

Which Shall It Be?

WHICH shall it be? Which shall it be?

I look'd at John--John look'd at me

(Dear, patient John, who loves me yet

As well as though my locks were jet);

And when I found that I must speak,

My voice seem'd strangely low and weak:

``Tell me again what Robert said?''

And then I, listening, bent my head.

``This is his letter:

                     ``'I will give

A house and land while you shall live,

If, in return, from out your seven,

One child to me for aye is given.'''

I look'd at John's old garments worn,

I thought of all that John had borne

Of poverty, and work, and care,

Which I, though willing, could not share;

I thought of seven mouths to feed,

Of seven little children's need,

And then of this.

                     ``Come, John,'' said I,

``We'll choose among them as they lie

Asleep''; so, walking hand in hand,

Dear John and I survey'd our band.

First to the cradle lightly stepp'd,

Where Lilian the baby slept,

A glory 'gainst the pillow white.

Softly the father stooped to lay

His rough hand down in loving way,

When dream or whisper made her stir,

And huskily he said: ``Not her!''

We stopped beside the trundle-bed

And one long ray of lamp-light shed

Athwart the boyish faces there,

In sleep so pitiful and fair;

I saw on Jamie's rough, red cheek,

A tear undried. Ere John could speak,

``He's but a baby, too,'' said I,

And kissed him as we hurried by.

Pale, patient Robbie's angel face

Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace;

``No, for a thousand crowns, not him,''

He whispered, while our eyes were dim.

Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son,

Turbulent, reckless, idle one--

Could he be spared? ``Nay, He who gave,

Bade us befriend him to the grave;

Only a mother's heart can be

Patient enough for such as he;

And so,'' said John, ``I would not dare

To send him from her bedside prayer.''

Then stole we softly up above

And knelt by Mary, child of love.

``Perhaps for her 'twould better be,''

I said to John, Quite silently

He lifted up a curl that lay

Acorss her cheek in willful way,

And shook his head, ``Nay, love, not thee,''

The while my heart beat audibly.

Only one more, our eldest lad,

Trusty and truthful, good and glad--

So like his father. ``No, John, no--

I can not, will not let him go.''

And so we wrote in courteous way,

We could not drive one child away,

And afterward, toil lighter seemed,

Thinking of that of which we dreamed;

Happy, in truth, that not one face

We missed from its accustomed place;

Thankful to work for all the seven,

Trusting the rest to One in heaven!

Ethyl Lynn Beers