Classic Poem

The morning of that memorable day
When Gordon's flag of truce bespoke the end,
Upon a plain surrounded by green hills,
Lee's Army stood o'ertaken in its flight.
The Union forces gathered circlewise
On every hilltop, planting batteries,
And covering every slope with threatening troops
Ready to slaughter their imprisoned foes,
Waiting to seal Confederate rout with blood.

But Grant revolted from the massacre
That opened to him. Though " The Butcher " named,
His kindly heart halted his sworded hand,
And swift dispatchment to the Southern Chief
Saved further onslaught, shaping ways of peace.

Upon Lee's soul a whelming sadness fell,
As there between the wings of Grant's array
He saw the war-worn remnant of his men
Caught and set round by ruthless lines of steel.
'Twas in that moment that surrender dread,
Spurned yesterday, became a fiery bolt
Instant, compulsive, tearing through his heart.
A cry of anguish swept his quivering lips.
He would the rather die a thousand deaths
Than go to his victorious enemy.

His weighting woe turned into evil lure.
How easily by riding down the lines,
A target for his foeman's wary watch,
He might end all and enter into rest.
So thought he as he gazed in desperateness.
But he was Duty's covenant servitor;
To live, not die, was her supreme command.
What wide and dire disaster would befall
The women and children of the South,
If he their sworn protector, failed them now!
The doubt and sadness vanished. Light that comes
With vows to Duty shone upon his face;
And Duty said, " Surrender, it is right. "
Unwelcome Duty manacled to Pain
Only the bravest follow, flinching not.
Duty he followed, as she sternly led
Into the yawning Valley of Dust and Ashes.