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Written for the Umpire. THE PICKET GUARD. MEET A MELGROVE. Bear him gently, comrades gently, For he died on picket guard; Fold his soldier’s cloak around him, Lay him on the grassy sword, Far beyond the blue Potomac; He has found a soldier’s grave ; Died he not in din of battle, But a picket, bold and brave. The long night was dark and dreary. Near the river stood the guard ; With long watching faint and weary, But with noble heart unscared ; And in silence deep, unbroken, With his rifle in his hand; Stood hhe waiting sign, or token, From the night-relief command. Were his thoughts in that lone moment, With his home and friends so dear ? Deemed he not the wily foeman, With such deadly aim was near! But the crash of ringing rifle, On the still night air is heard , And the life-blood freely gushes, From the noble picket guard, Yet while death his eye is glazing, And his bronzed cheek pallid grows ; Comes the din of martial conflict, And the rallying cry of foes! Quick,” he cries, and grasps the carbine, That is glittering by his side; But his arm has fallen powerless, Thus the picket soldier died. What report makes grateful mention, Of that noble soldier’s death ? Who went nightly forth to battle, Met his foe—resigned his breath . Nations weep when mighty leaders, Fall beneath the foeman’s sword; But unmarked, forgotten, friendless, Sleeps the faithful picket guard. Spencer House, May 16th, 1867.
Newspaper Details
Rockport Weekly Umpire
Rockport, Indiana, US
Thu, May 23, 1867
Page 1
Full Page
Clipped by
Don S.
USA 18 Feb 2026
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