The Two Pickets

J.H. Johnson, Stationer, 7 North Tenth St., Philadelphia.

The Two Pickets.

Silently, watchfully, weary of day,
Hid in a thicket, a Picket boy lay,
Quiet as death, for a Rebel’s keen glance,
Watched for the moment, he moved to advance.

Close within gunshot the foe stood concealed,
Back of a pine tree on that dreary field,
Fate seemed to murmur that brothers so brave,
Longed to mark out for each other a grave.

On the still air came a voice clear and strong,
Breaking the silence with shout and with song,
Thrilled by the echo, the picket stood higher,
Dropping his rifle, cried—“Brother, don’t fire!”

Silence more awful again reigns supreme,
Footfalls from heaven were heard though unseen,
Charlie, don’t fire, here’s a letter for thee!
Mother still loves thee, though Rebel thou be.

Swifter than arrow a rifle ball came,
Piercing his bright eye, the Picket lay slain,
Brother, bend down—give mother this kiss,
Tell her in heaven there is UNION and PEACE.

Johnson & Co, Song Publishers, 18 North Tenth St., Philadelphia.

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