A Dirge For McPherson
Arms reversed and banners creped —
Muffled drums;
Snowy horses sable-draped —
McPherson comes.
But, tell us, shall we know him more,
Lost-Mountain and lone Kenesaw?
Brave the sword upon the pall —
A gleam in gloom;
So a bright name lighteth all
McPherson's doom.
Bear him through the chapel-door —
Let priest in stole
Pace before the warrior
Who led. Bell —toll!
Lay him down within the nave,
The lesson read —
Man is noble, man is brave,
But man's — a weed.
Take him up again and wend
Graveward, nor weep:
There's a trumpet that shall rend
This Soldier's sleep.
Pass the ropes the coffin round,
And let descend;
Prayer and volley — let it sound
McPherson's end.
True fame is his, for life is o'er —
Sarpedon of the mighty war.
James McPherson was 35 years old and the commanding general of the Union Army of the Tennessee when he blundered into a Confederate raiding party during the Battle of Bald Hill and was killed by a shot in the back as he tried to return to the safety of his own lines.
