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WEARING OF THE GRAY.
Our cannons' mouths are dumb. No more our volleyed muskets peal,
Nor gleams, to mark where squadrons rush, the light from flashing steel;
No more our crossed and starry flags in gentle dalliance play
With battle breeze, as when we fought, a wearing of the gray.
Our cause is lost! No more we fight 'gainst overwhelming
power; All wearied are our limbs, and drenched with many a battle
shower; We fain would rest! For want of strength we yield them
up the day, And lower the flag so proudly borne while wearing of the
gray.
Defeat is not dishonor ! No ! Of honor not bereft,
We should thank God that in our breasts this priceless boon
is left; And though we weep 'tis for those braves who stood in proud
array Beneath our flag, and nobly died while wearing of the gray.
When in the ranks of war we stood, and faced the deadly
hail, Our simple suits of gray composed our only coats ot mail;
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