The Hesitating Veteran

When I was young and full of faith  And other fads that youngsters cherishA cry rose as of one that saith  With emphasis: "Help or I perish!"'Twas heard in all the land, and men  The sound were each to each repeating.

It made my heart beat faster then  Than any heart can now be beating.

For the world is old and the world is gray—  Grown prudent and,

I think, more witty.

She's cut her wisdom teeth, they say,  And doesn't now go in for Pity.

Besides, the melancholy cry  Was that of one, 'tis now conceded,

Whose plight no one beneath the sky    Felt half so poignantly as he did.

Moreover, he was black.

And yet  That sentimental

With an austere compassion set  Its face and faith to the occasion.

Then there were hate and strife to spare,  And various hard knocks a-plenty;

And I ('twas more than my true share,  I must confess) took five-and-twenty.

That all is over now—the reign  Of love and trade stills all dissensions,

And the clear heavens arch again  Above a land of peace and pensions.

The black chap—at the last we gave  Him everything that he had cried for,

Though many white chaps in the grave  'Twould puzzle to say what they died for.

I hope he's better off—I trust  That his society and his

Are worth the price we paid, and must  Continue paying, in disasters;

But sometimes doubts press thronging round  ('Tis mostly when my hurts are aching)If war for Union was a sound  And profitable undertaking.'Tis said they mean to take away  The Negro's vote for he's unlettered.'Tis true he sits in darkness day  And night, as formerly, when fettered;

But pray observe—howe'er he vote  To whatsoever party turning,

He'll be with gentlemen of note  And wealth and consequence and learning.

With saints and sages on each side,  How could a fool through lack of knowledge,

Vote wrong?

If learning is no guide  Why ought one to have been in college?

O Son of Day,

O Son of Night!  What are your preferences made of?

I know not which of you is right,  Nor which to be the more afraid of.

The world is old and the world is bad,  And creaks and grinds upon its axis;

And man's an ape and the gods are mad!—  There's nothing sure, not even our taxes!

No mortal man can Truth restore,  Or say where she is to be sought for.

I know what uniform I wore—  O, that I knew which side I fought for!