The Furlough Poem by John Bannister Tabb

'Home,' he said, and westward turning,
Looked upon the setting sun.
'Heed the child,' a sentry muttered,
'Safety on the rampart none.'
'Naught I fear,' the boy made answer,
'Battle shock, nor random gun;
Homeward all my heart advances,
Victory 's won!'


In his eyes the light of morning
Met the slow-declining day,
Where the bow of peace expanding,
Lit with hope's celestial ray-
Born of sunshine, cloud-engendered,
Sorrow washed in tears away-
'Strife to holy calm surrenders,'
Seems to say.


Fair he stood, as in a vision,
When with sudden cry of dread,
Forward sprang each sturdy comrade,
To support the fallen head.
Swift a thirsty flash, unerring,
To the font of life had sped!
Calm he lay. We bent above him;
'Home he goeth,' some one said.
With the dew our tears were falling,
O'er the dead!