A Rainy Day in Camp.

'TIS a cheerless, lonesome evening

  When the soaking, sodden ground

Will not echo to the footfall

   Of the sentinel's dull round.

 

God's blue star-spangled banner

  To-night is not unfurled,

Sorely He has not deserted

  This weary, warring world.

 

I peer into the darkness,

  And the crowding fancies come;

The night wind blowing northward

   Carries all my heart towards home.

 

For I 'listed in this army

  Not exactly to my mind;

But my country called for helpers,

  And I could not stay behind.

 

Lo, I have had a sight of drilling,

  And have roughed it many ways,

And Death has nearly had me, —

   Still I think the service pays.

 

It's a blessed sort of feeling,

   Whether yon live or die,

To know you've helped your country,

  And fought right loyally.

 

But I can't help thinking, sometimes

  When a wet day's leisure comes,

That I hear the old home voices

  Talking louder than the drums.

 

 

And that far familiar faces

  Press in at the tent door,

And the little children's footsteps

   Go pit-pat on the floor.

 

I can't help thinking, sometimes,

  Of all the parson reads

About that other soldier-life

  Which every true man leads.

 

And wife, soft-hearted creature,

   Seems a saying in mine ear,

" I'd rather have you in those ranks

  Than see you Brigadier."

 

I call myself a brave one,

  But in my heart I lie;

For my country and her honor

  I'm fiercely free to die,

 

But when the Lord who bought me,

  Asks for my service here,

To fight the good fight faithfully

  I'm skulking in the rear.

 

And yet I know that Captain

  All love and care to be;

He would not get impatient

  With a raw recruit like me.

 

And I know He'd not forget me,

  When the day of peace appears,

I should share with Him the victory

   Of all the volunteers.

 

And it's kind of cheerful thinking

  Beside the dull tent fire,

About that great promotion

  When He says "Come up higher."

 

And though 'tis dismal rainy,

  E'en now with thoughts of Him,

Camp-life looks extra cheery,

  And death a deal less grim,

 

For I seem to see him waiting

  Where a gathered Heaven greets

A great victorious army,

  Surging up the golden streets.

 

And I hear him read the roll-call,

  And my heart is all a flame

When the dear "Recording Angel"

   Writes down my happy name.

 

But my fire is dead white ashes,

   And the tent is chilling cold,

And I'm playing win the .battle,

   When I've never been enrolled.

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