. At early candle light and other poems. eus, leaving his sycamore perch,—In Hardscrabble Chapel or Highsteeple Church? Would he see those who sought the Master of old;The lost sheep He carried from far to the fold; The sinner whom bloodthirsty Pharisees claimed; The blind and the halt, the withered and maimed;The lepers who dwelt in the caverns forgot;The sisters who sobbed in that Bethany cot; The woman that stood by the palms at the well; The penitent thief, who was halfway in hell;Sad souls whom this world had cast into the lurch,—In Hardscrabble Chapel or Highsteeple Church? Should he but
. At early candle light and other poems. eus, leaving his sycamore perch,—In Hardscrabble Chapel or Highsteeple Church? Would he see those who sought the Master of old;The lost sheep He carried from far to the fold; The sinner whom bloodthirsty Pharisees claimed; The blind and the halt, the withered and maimed;The lepers who dwelt in the caverns forgot;The sisters who sobbed in that Bethany cot; The woman that stood by the palms at the well; The penitent thief, who was halfway in hell;Sad souls whom this world had cast into the lurch,—In Hardscrabble Chapel or Highsteeple Church? Should he but walk, in his white vestiture,Mid the worshipers there, the rich and the poor;See one lapping lambs in its warm woolen plaid,One sitting in purple and fine linen clad,One breaking its bread to those in hoarding the honey of Gods bounteousness,One deep in His love as the wheel in the craving to skim gay societys cream,—His glorious robes would gather less smirchIn Hardscrabble Chapel than Highsteeple COMRADE HAYES E marched with us,—Septembers sunWas bright on bannered Washington;From the forum, factory, and East and West went arm-in-arm;Ten thousand shouts on loyal thousand streamers made eclipseAbove that veteran host of blueThat walked the white-walled avenue;But loudest rose the roar to greetThe statesman from the highest seat,Who came, amid their wondering march with us,—our Comrade Hayes. He fought with us. His glory isA part of ours, and ours of followed when his charging lineSwept up South Mountains red incline;Heard his deep voice, above the dinOf battle, cheer his Buckeyes in;We saw him, mid the missiles whirr,Wade that morass at ! how our eyes shine as we speakOf that wild day at Cedar Creek, 82 COMRADE H7WES When, cinched with deadly musket-blaze,We fought with him,—our Comrade Hayes. He sleeps with us, for we are one, Beneath the sod, beneath the sun; We guard the rear while
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