All Is Gone
Fadette — Memphis Appeal
Sister, hark! Atween the trees cometh naught but summer breeze?
All is gone—
Summer breezes come and go. Hope doth never wander so—
No, nor evermore doth Woe.
Sister, look! Adown the lane treadeth only April rain?
All is gone—
Through the tangled hedge-rows green glimmer thus the sunbeam’s sheen,
Dropping from cloud-rifts between?
Sister, hark! the very air heavy on my heart doth bear—
All is gone!—
E’en the birds that chirped erewhile for the frowning sun to smile,
Hush at that drum near the stile.
Sister, pray!—it is the foe! On thy knees—aye, very low—
All is gone,
And the proud South on her knees to a mongrel race like these—
But the dead sleep ’neath the trees.
See—they come—their banners flare gayly in our gloomy air—
All is gone—
Flashed our Southern Cross all night—naught but a meteoric light
In a moment lost to sight?
Aye, so gay—the brave array—marching from no battle fray—
All is gone,—
Yet who vaunteth, of your host, maketh he but little boast
If he think on battles most.
On they wind, behind the wood. Dost remember once we stood—
All is gone—
All but memory, of those days—but we’ve stood here while the haze
Of the battle met the blaze.
Of the sun adown yon hill. Charge on charge—I hear them still.—
All is gone!—
Yet I hear the echoing crash—see the sabres gleam and flash—
See one gallant headlong dash.
One, amid the battle-wreck, restive plunged his charger black—
All is gone—
Whirrs the partridge there—didst see where he rode so
recklessly?
Once he turned and waved to me.
“Ah,” thou saidst, “the smoke is dark, scarce can I our banner mark”—
All is gone—
All but memory; yet I see, darksome howsoever it be,
How to death—to death—rode he.
Not a star he proudly bore, but a sword all dripping gore—
All is gone—
Dashes on our little band like yon billow on the strand—
Like yon strand unmoved they stand.
For their serried ranks are strong: thousands upon thousands throng—
All is gone,
And the handful, true and brave, spent, like yonder dying wave,
Fall back slowly from that grave.
Low our banner drooped—and fell. Back he spurs, mid shot and shell—
All was gone,
But he waves it high—and then, on—we sweep them from the glen—
But he ne’er rode back again.
Ah, I smiled to see him go. How my cheek with pride did glow!
All is gone—
All, of pride or hope, for me—but that evening, hopefully
Stood I at the gate with thee,
Sister, when at twilight gray marched our soldiers back this way—
All is gone—
In the woods rang many a cheer—how we smiled! I did not fear
Till—at last was borne a bier.
Sweetest sister, dost thou weep? Hush! he only fell asleep—
All is gone—
And’twere better he had died—free, whatever us betide—
Our galling chains untried.
We were leaning on the gate. Dost remember, it grew late—
All is gone—
Yet I see the stars so pale—see the shadows down the vale—
Hear the whip-poor-will’s far wail,
As if all were in a dream. Through yon pines the moon did gleam—
All is gone—
On that banner-pall of death—on that red sword without sheath—
And—I knew who lay beneath.
Did I speak? I thought I said, let me look upon your dead—
All is gone—
Was I cold? I did not weep. Tears are spray from founts not deep—
My heart lies in frozen sleep.
Sister, pray for me. Thine eyes gleam like God’s own midnight skies—
All is gone—
Tuneless are my spirit’s chords. I but look up, like the birds,
And trust Christ to say the words.