Another milestone meets me, on Time’s weary road of woe, And onward to the sea of Death, o’er rugged steeps I go; Far in the West the setting sun in clouds is sinking fast, And night o’ertakes me with its storms and madly howling blast. Ah, there were days whose lapse was like the flow of summer waves When June’s fresh roses stoop to kiss the murmuring stream that laves, When gentle tones and loving eyes my boyish pastimes blest And childhood’s every care was soothed upon a mother’s breast. Sister, sweet sister, oh, could not the fearful spoiler spare A heart so true and innocent, a form so young and fair! I saw thy lily hands crossed on thy snowy winding sheet, But thy soul was by the shining throne, upon the golden street. But oh, thy gentle voice on earth can make no music now, And in the tomb the funeral dust is gathered on thy brow. What now is left to me? To muse upon the past with pain While the quivering pulse is throbbing like a death knell on my brain. I am like one shipwrecked upon some bleak and lonely shore, With not a voice to greet his ear except the billows’ roar; All that he loved are whelmed far down beneath the briny sea; Even hope deserts him now--alas! all hope has fled from me! Dark falls the night--all pitiless the rainy tempests blow-- Earth yields no shelter, and above no friendly beacons glow; A crown of thorns is piercing through my aching, throbbing brow, And iron griefs my pallid cheeks with deep run furrows plow. But oh, thou Holy One, whose feet once pressed this earthly sod; Balm of the bruised and bleeding heart, oh, sinless Lamb of God, To thee on bended knees, with tears of bitterness, I pray, For thou canst heal my stricken heart and guide me on the way. BATTLE OF NASHVILLE DECEMBER 15-16, 1864. [Written as a Carriers’ Address for the Nashville _Daily Press and Times_, December 25, 1864.] THE PREPARATION. All day, while gazing from yon lofty tower, We saw, far gleaming through the mist and smoke, The camps, like fleets upon a circling sea, Or snowdrifts sleeping on the frozen hills, Dumb batteries, like bloodhounds in the leash, Yet terrible in silence, the blue tide Of cavalry, the battle’s foremost wave; The gunboats on the left; upon the right Fort Gillem’s bannered staff, and to the south Fort Negley’s bastions belting St. Cloud’s hill, And Morton and Casino by its side. How soon their guns will belch their sulphurous breath Upon the crimson carnival of Death! THE NIGHT SCENE.