I.
The colonel rode by his picket-line
In the pleasant morning sun,
That glanced from him far off to shine
On the crouching rebel picket's gun.
II.
From his command the captain strode
Out with a grave salute,
And talked with the colonel as he rode;—
The picket levelled his piece to shoot.
III.
The colonel rode and the captain walked,—
The arm of the picket tired;
Their faces almost touched as they talked,
And, swerved from his aim, the picket fired.
IV.
The captain fell at the horse's feet,
Wounded and hurt to death,
Calling upon a name that was sweet
As God is good, with his dying breath.
V.
And the colonel that leaped from his horse and knelt
To close the eyes so dim,
A high remorse for God's mercy felt,
Knowing the shot was meant for him.
VI.