. The Haverfordian, Vols. 31-33, 1909-12 . ps and their long overcoats, gay withvivid blue linings. There could be no mistake about it, they weresoldiers, perhaps in all thirty or more. As I neared them the drum rattled and they formed on the curbin a wavering line. Besides the band, there were but a scant dozen ormore, and the drum disclosed that this was Post 59 of the Grand Armyof the Republic. They were old, grisled fellows, each wearing as fiercea mustache as he could. Some were bent, one or two seemed feeble;and despite their long coats the air smote them keenly, I could see. Thedrum rol
. The Haverfordian, Vols. 31-33, 1909-12 . ps and their long overcoats, gay withvivid blue linings. There could be no mistake about it, they weresoldiers, perhaps in all thirty or more. As I neared them the drum rattled and they formed on the curbin a wavering line. Besides the band, there were but a scant dozen ormore, and the drum disclosed that this was Post 59 of the Grand Armyof the Republic. They were old, grisled fellows, each wearing as fiercea mustache as he could. Some were bent, one or two seemed feeble;and despite their long coats the air smote them keenly, I could see. Thedrum rolled again, and they formed two by two. It was a valiant ef-fort at alertness, if just a bit grotesque and pitiful. And they passeddown the street to the tune of Marching Through Georgia. I liftedmy hat to them, and in memory of the dim, gone past; for there at thecemetery gate there awaited them their silent comrade and predecessor, inhis black plumed hearse, wrapped in the flag they had all defended. Felix E. Schelling. THE CHORD HE gleaming whiteIn the changing light Shows pure against the green,Where the mantled cloudOf the pine trees shroud Leaves all the world unseen. The free wind stingsAs it airily flings The swirling flakes on high,While the branches shakeAnd the dead boughs quake Beneath the slaty sky. The storm neer diesAnd the wide world lies As the tempest breaks a whispering songIs calling long In a sobbing, wild refrain. And I must awayFor the eager day Is drawing me on to you,And I only liveTo hope and strive Forever to be true. But the call of the windIs the call I find In the blue of the summer sea,And in storm or fairMy only prayer. To be worthy love of thee. P. C. K.
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Keywords: ., bookauthorhaverfor, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookyear1912
