The Veteran Reunion

by Frank L. Stanton

We met at Chickamanga. I hadn't seen him since
We looked across the trenches, and his bullet made me wince;
But we both shook hands in friendship, as hearty as could be.
Though he had marched with Sherman, and I had marched with Lee.

We walked across the battlefield, where once the bullets flew,
And the green and bending grasses felt the fall of crimson dew;
And we talked the whole thing over, where the flag was waving free
How he had marched with Sherman, and I had served with Lee.

The drums had ceased their beating, we saw no sabres shine;
The hair about his forehead fell as snowy white as mine,
And voices seemed to call us o'er the far, etemal sea,
Where the men who marched with Sherman are in camp with those ef Lee.

We parted; eyes grew misry, for we knew that nevermore
We'd meet until the roll-call on the other peaceful shore;
But both shook hands in friendship, as hearty as could be,
Though he had marched with Sherman, and I had fought with Lee.