Somebody's hand hath rested there- Been baptized in those waves of light? God knows best; he has somebody's love; Night and morn on the wings of prayer; Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, Somebody clung to his parting hand. Somebody's watching and waiting for him,Yearning to hold him again to her heart; And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim, And the smiling, childlike lips apart; Tenderly bury the fair young dead, Pausing to drop on his grave a tear; Carve on the wooden slab at his head: "Somebody's Darling slumbers here." - Maria La Conte. THE WAR-SHIP OF 1812. The War-ship of 1812. HE was no armored cruiser of twice six thousand SHE tons, With the thirty foot of metal that make your modern guns; She didn't have a freeboard of thirty foot in clear, An' she didn't need a million repairin' fund each year. She had no rackin' engines to ramp an' stamp an' strain, To work her steel-clad turrets an' break her hull in twain ; She did not have electric lights, the battle-lantern's glare Was all the light the 'tween decks had, an' God's own good fresh air. She had no gapin' air-flumes to throw us down our breath, An' we didn't batten hatches to smother men to death; She didn't have five hundred smiths. two hundred men would do – In the old-time Yankee frigate for an old-time Yan kee crew, An' a fightin' Yankee captain, with his old-time Yankee clothes, A-cursin' Yankee sailors with his old-time Yankee oaths. She was built of Yankee timber and manned by Yankee men, An' fought by Yankee sailors - Lord send their like again! With the wind abaft the quarter and the sea-foam flyin' free, An' every tack and sheet housed taut and braces eased to lee, You could hear the deep sea thunder from the knightheads where it broke, As she trailed her lee guns under a blindin' whirl o' smoke. She didn't run at twenty knots, — she wasn't built to run, An' we didn't need a half a watch to handle every gun. Our captain didn't fight his ship from a little pen o' steel; He fought her from his quarter-deck, with two hands at the wheel, An' we fought in Yankee fashion, half-naked, stripped to board, THE WAR-SHIP OF 1812. An' when they hauled their red flag down we praised the Yankee Lord; We fought like Yankee sailors, an' we'll do it, too, again, You've changed the ships an' methods, but you can't change Yankee men! - Philadelphia Record. The Torpedo-boat. SHE'S a floating boiler, crammed with fire and steam, A toy, with dainty works like any watch; A working, weaving basketful of tricks, Eccentric, cam and lever, cog and notch. She's a dashing, lashing, tumbling shell of steel, A headstrong, kicking, nervous, plunging beast, A long, lean ocean liner, - trimmed down small; A bucking bronco harnessed for the east. She can rear and toss and roll And she's most unpleasant wet, to say the least! But see her slip in; sneaking down, at night, All a-tremble, deadly, silent, Satan-sly. Watch her gather for the rush, and catch her breath! See her dodge the wakeful cruiser's sweeping eye. Hear the humming! Hear her coming! coming fast! (That's the sound might make men wish they were at home - Hear the rattling Maxim, barking rapid fire!) See her loom out through the fog with bows afoam ! |