there. I had been very sick. I could see no friend—only crowds of Federal soldiers. I was afraid I should fall in the street and be burned up in the flames of the houses blazing on both sides of the street. I had to go alone. I spent that night at the Taylor house, which a Federal officer said should not be burned out of pity for my niece. The next two nights I passed in my garden without any shelter. I have been for over fifty years a member of the Presbyterian Church. I cannot live long. I shall meet General Sherman and his soldiers at the bar of God, and I give this testimony against them in the full view of that dread tribunal.'"
The Blue and the Gray.
A Poem by Rev. J. G. Walker, of Philadelphia.
As years passed on, from homes apart
Our brothers sped themselves away;
With fierce intent in every heart.
Some wore the Blue and some the Gray.
They marched to fields of deadly strife,
And met in fratricidal fray;
With purpose strong as love of life—
Some fought in Blue and some in Gray.
Each deemed his cause both true and just.
And bravely strove to win the day;
And of the hosts who bit the dust,
Some fell in Blue and some in Gray.
Where flowers bloom in southern vales.
Where waters dash in crystal spray.
Where hills are fanned by northern gales,
Some sleep in Blue and some in Gray.
On mansion and on cottage wall,
Hang the dead heroes of the fray,
Whose mute lips answer not the call
Of comrades wearing Blue and Gray.
And out from homes both South and North,
The orphaned children bend their way;
And widowed mothers issue forth.
To drop their tears on Blue and Gray.
Over the dead the same sun throws
His warm, benignant, peaceful sway;
And in their undisturbed repose.
The Blue lies buried with the Gray.
