MUSTERED OUT.
Where the blessèd winter sunshine close beside my pallet falls,
While I watch its golden glory steal across the white-washed walls,
While I hear amid the silence Christmas chime and Christmas shout,—
I am lying,
Faint and dying,
Waiting to be mustered out.
While I watch its golden glory steal across the white-washed walls,
While I hear amid the silence Christmas chime and Christmas shout,—
I am lying,
Faint and dying,
Waiting to be mustered out.
'T is the time, I well remember, when I hoped once more to stand
Safe within the charmèd circle of the joyous household band,
Grim, perhaps, with warlike scarring; proud, perhaps, of warlike fame;—
Vain my dreaming,—
Yet in seeming
I can think it just the same.
Safe within the charmèd circle of the joyous household band,
Grim, perhaps, with warlike scarring; proud, perhaps, of warlike fame;—
Vain my dreaming,—
Yet in seeming
I can think it just the same.
