They were comrades then and brothers, Are they more or less to-day? They were good to stop a bullet And to front the fearful fray. They were citizens and soldiers, When rebellion raised its head; And the traits that made them worthy,-- Ah! those virtues are not dead. They have shared your nightly vigils, They have shared your daily toil; And their blood with yours commingling Has enriched the Southern soil. They have slept and marched and suffered 'Neath the same dark skies as you, They have met as fierce a foeman, And have been as brave and true. And their deeds shall find a record In the registry of Fame; For their blood has cleansed completely Every blot of Slavery's shame. So all honor and all glory To those noble sons of Ham-- The gallant colored soldiers Who fought for Uncle Sam! NATURE AND ART TO MY FRIEND CHARLES BOOTH NETTLETON I The young queen Nature, ever sweet and fair, Once on a time fell upon evil days. From hearing oft herself discussed with praise, There grew within her heart the longing rare To see herself; and every passing air The warm desire fanned into lusty blaze. Full oft she sought this end by devious ways, But sought in vain, so fell she in despair. For none within her train nor by her side Could solve the task or give the envied boon. So day and night, beneath the sun and moon, She wandered to and fro unsatisfied, Till Art came by, a blithe inventive elf, And made a glass wherein she saw herself. II Enrapt, the queen gazed on her glorious self, Then trembling with the thrill of sudden thought, Commanded that the skilful wight be brought That she might dower him with lands and pelf. Then out upon the silent sea-lapt shelf And up the hills and on the downs they sought Him who so well and wondrously had wrought; And with much search found and brought home the elf. But he put by all gifts with sad replies, And from his lips these words flowed forth like wine: "O queen, I want no gift but thee," he said. She heard and looked on him with love-lit eyes, Gave him her hand, low murmuring, "I am thine," And at the morrow's dawning they were wed. AFTER WHILE A POEM OF FAITH I think that though the clouds be dark, That though the waves dash o'er the bark, Yet after while the light will come, And in calm waters safe at home The bark will anchor. Weep not, my sad-eyed, gray-robed maid, Because your fairest blossoms fade, That sorrow still o'erruns your cup, And even though you root them up, The weeds grow ranker.