Never heed
Either Russ, or Frank, or Turk;
Right of nations, trampled creed,
Chance-poised victory's bloody work;
Any flag i' the wind may roll
On thy heights, Sevastopol!
Willie, all to you and me
Is that spot, whate'er it be,
Where he stands--no other word--
_Stands_--God sure the child's prayers heard--
Near the Alma River.
Willie, listen to the bells
Ringing in the town to-day;
That's for victory. No knell swells
For the many swept away,--
Hundreds, thousands. Let us weep,
We, who need not,--just to keep
Reason clear in thought and brain
Till the morning comes again;
Till the third dread morning tell
Who they were that fought and--_fell_
By the Alma River.
Come, we'll lay us down, my child;
Poor the bed is,--poor and hard;
But thy father, far exiled,
Sleeps upon the open sward,
Dreaming of us two at home;
Or, beneath the starry dome,
Digs out trenches in the dark,
Where he buries--Willie, mark!--
Where _he buries_ those who died
Fighting--fighting at his side--
By the Alma River.
Willie, Willie, go to sleep;
God will help us, O my boy!
He will make the dull hours creep
Faster, and send news of joy;
When I need not shrink to meet
Those great placards in the street,
That for weeks will ghastly stare
In some eyes--child, say that prayer
Once again,--a different one,--
Say, "O God! Thy will be done
By the Alma River.
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