Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE VISION OF GETTYSBURG (1863-1913), by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON Poet's Biography First Line: What if, that day, when on those tawny slopes Last Line: The squandered blood of gettysburgs to come. Subject(s): American Civil War; Gettysburg Campaign (1863); United States - History; Gettysburg, Battle Of | ||||||||
I WHAT if, that day, when on those tawny slopes, Made as by Mars for battle, but till then Still happily unhistoric, steeped in peace, Two foes, of age-long enmity, drew near -- (Foes of torn forest and of trampled field, Not in the smart apparel of parade But long bedraggled with the toil of war, Will matched with will, courage to courage set, In tremulous expectancy of fate, Each with the hopes of millions in reserve;) -- What if, while strong men nearer to their hearts Pressed their worn amulets: a wisp of hair; A woman's tear-stained letters; some small toy; The penciled tracing of a baby's hand; Likeness of child by father never seen, To whom that father was to be a myth Told by a lonely fireside through the years; -- What if, at that weak moment of the brave, Before the sign of serried death was given, The Angel of the Future, in a white dream Of morning mist that blotted out the scene, Had swept in solemn beauty down the lines, Trailing a scroll of visioned prophecy, Till all had seen that field with second sight, And all had heard her words: "O warriors, stay! Unshotted be the cannon, sheathed the sword. Look on this picture, half a century hence, When ye, the tottering remnants who shall live To mourn the comrades who to-day shall die, Shall be again the brothers ye are now But seem not now to be. Look close! Who are those old who mimic the assault Ye face to-day, crossing this very ground To meet not Death but Love? See, clasped in peace, Not clenched, your hands. Those heads of gray are yours. Time has outwept the colors of your flags, The strife forgiven, all the hate forgot. Sires of the not-yet-orphaned, will ye die?" With such a vision slowly fading back From dream to dread, from dread to dream again, Could one have given the awful word of death, Or human hearts obeyed it? Yes, ah yes! In all great enterprises of the soul The immediate duty is the strongest lure. Not lightly did these follow the red trail, Not for adventure, nor for murderous sport, Nor glory, oft more sordid than grosser gain; But for the stark necessity of Man To heed his conscience' trumpet, lest he die And live on, dead! So, that the God within, Who haunts our coward days, might be appeased, With war's momentum in their heated veins, And with a Hebrew prophet's certainty, Each called on Heaven for justice, and rushed on! II We say they fought each for the Right he saw. There is but one good greater than the Right -- The imperishable Love of Right. That stays, The needle of our destiny, howe'er Its sentient tremblings momently may swerve. God of the storm, the fog, the sinking sea, Be praised for that deliverance! And yet -- What if that strife, which all men said must be, Solvent of error, touchstone of respect, New bond of strength, need never to have been? We doubt, but what shall ermined History say? Somewhere in every devastating storm Of hungry flame that sweeps the night with fear Once lurked a primal spark not hard to quench; Perchance it smouldered long in soft neglect Till came a breeze, gentle as infant's breath, And piled on peril ruin and dismay -- Ashes for beauty, as though patient years Had been withdrawn from Time, to be consumed. Of our dire conflagration who shall name The careless passer, or the sleeping guard, Or those who left the danger to their sons, Trusting the futile trench of compromise? Ah, name them boldly: the revered, the great, Firstlings of fame in every patriot's thought, The sculptured saints about the nation's fane, Their faults forgotten, in a people's pride. Men of that elder day, who gave us life, Honor for what you did, but not, alas! For what you left undone. For, when you built The nation's temple, hallowing every stone With sacrifice, you knew a serpent dwelt 'Neath its foundations, yet you took your ease And left the poison of its brood to spread. On you, on you the blood of Gettysburg! III For whom these fables? Are they not for us? Are there not other serpents that demand The firm Herculean grasp? And other fires Mad with destructive spirit half subdued? Must Wisdom's torch consume a hundred hills That it may give us light to see our path Into peace-haunted valleys? Land of ours! Not less they love thee who must chide the faults Of those that serve thee. Be thou wise as strong -- Justice to-day thy fortress of to-morrow; Better than battleships thine own Good Will; The bond of all thy children Equal Laws, Their pride thine Honor. Not unto thyself Alone thou livest but to Space and Time! Lead thou thy leaders, lead they not aright, That, seeing clearly where our fathers failed, We leave no legacy of wanton strife As bones of prey to tempt the beast in Man, Lest, surfeited with carnage, sadder days Shall scorn our ashes, and impute to us The squandered blood of Gettysburgs to come. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISIT TO GETTYSBURG by LUCILLE CLIFTON JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG by FRANCIS BRET HARTE THE GETTYSBURG ADDRESS by ABRAHAM LINCOLN GETTYSBURG [JULY 1-3, 1863] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE THE HIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG [JULY 3, 1863] by WILL HENRY THOMPSON SIOUX SONGS: HARVEST by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY SIOUX SONGS: ROCKS by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY SIOUX SONGS: THE BATTLE by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY SIOUX SONGS: THE CEMETERY by AGNES KENDRICK GRAY AN ENGLISH MOTHER by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON |
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