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The moon dips in yon tawny cloud,
The ghostly leaves wave to and fro; And falls the order, stern and loud:
"Up from the trenches, ho!" As when they heard the rattling drum
Which roused them at the dawn of day, From field and fen, look where they come
The ranks of Blue and Gray!
Again they give the kindly hand-
Friends of the shadow-land. Among his men the leader rides,
Calm Peace, that Death can never mar, On his glory-lighted brow abides,
Fair as yon holy star.
Has singled out that comrade now;
By dripping leaf and bough.
No clinking sabres wake the gloom;
Presages fearful doom.
And eastern skies are golden red,
The trenches keep their dead.
ONLY GOING TO THE GATE.
BY ETHEL LYNN. Like a bell of blossom ringing,
Clear and childish, shrill and sweet, Floating to the porch's shadow,
With the fainter fall of feet,
Comes the answer softly backward,
Biddinig tender watcher wait, While the Baby Queen outruns her
“Only going to the gate. Through the moonlight, warm and scentede
Love to Beauty breathes his sigh, Lingering, to leave reluctant,
Loth to speak the low good-by.
Waiting love of older date,
“Only going to the gate." . Oh, these gates along our pathway,
What they bar outside and in!
Over ways we have not been.
Toll-gates some, with price to pay; Spring-gates some thiat shut forever:
Cloud-gates some, that melt away! Just across their slender weavings
Troth-plight happy hands have crossed Yet its locks have rusted ruddy,
Or its keys in night shade lost. Over latches, softly falling,
Good-by prayers have dropped like dew; Little gateways, softly shutting,
Yet have cut a love in two. So we pass them going upward
On our journey, one by one, To the distant shining wicket
Where each traveller goes alone: Where the friends who journey with us
Strangely falter, stop and wait; Father, mother, child or lover,
“Only going to the gate."
GEORGE COOPER. Through the doorway flowed the sunshine
In a flood of molten gold; Like a cataract of glory
Down the rifted clouds it rolled, While a child upon the carpot,
Laughing, ran to where it lay,
Like a dream it fled away.
And the blue of heaven had gone,
Beat the sullen air alone.
Gazed upon the vacant floor,
Which would come that day no more. Happy childhood ! watching, waiting,
In your sweet and rosy glow, You will follow Hopes as fleeting,
In the path your feet must go!
While the joy-rays dimly burn,
That will never more return!
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY,
F. M. FINCH.
Whence the fleets of irop have fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead;
Under the sod and the dew, . :
Waiting the Judgment Day-
Under the other the Gray.
The desolate mourners go,
Alike for the friend and the foe; Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the Judgment Day Under the roses the Blue,
Under the lilies the Gray. So with an equal splendor
The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all; Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the Judgment Day'Broidered with gold the Blue,
Mellowed with gold the Gray. So when the summer calleth
On forest and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain ; Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the Judgment DayWet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done; In the storm of the years that are fading
No braver battle was won; Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the Judgment DayUnder the blossoms the Blue,
Under the garlands the Gray.
No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Waiting the Judgment Day~'. Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.
THE PETRIFIED FERN.
MARY BOLLES BRANCH..
In a valley, centuries ago,