The Picket's Song Poem by Fred Lewis Pattee

Softly, comrades, they are sleeping,-
Since the morning, oh, how long has been the way!
Though we sleep not, we are dreaming
Of the days when steel was gleaming
And when rifle clashed with rifle in the fray.
But the army now is sleeping;
We are but the pickets, keeping
Ward and watch before the camp till break of day.

Softly, comrades, they are sleeping,-
They, the muscle of the North, the Nation's stay.
Some, when shell and death were flying,
In the Southland we left lying,-
They were sleeping when their comrades marched away.
Now the Northern ranks are sleeping,
We, the few, are pickets, keeping
Watch and ward until the breaking of the day.

Softly, comrades, they are sleeping,
And we watch them while the slow years steal away,
One by one, to rest we're going,
For our eyes are heavy growing;-
There is silence o'er the camp-ground erst so gay;
For the Northern ranks are sleeping;
We are but the pickets, keeping
Watch and ward until the breaking of the day.