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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [begin page 297] - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -




HOW SOLEMN, AS ONE BY ONE.

(Washington City, 1865.)

HOW solemn, as one by one,
As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty—as the
men file by where I stand;
As the faces, the masks appear—as I glance at the faces,
studying the masks;
(As I glance upward out of this page, studying you,
dear friend, whoever you are;)
How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each
in the ranks, and to you;
I see behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul;
O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear
friend,
Nor the bayonet stab what you really are:
…The soul! yourself I see, great as any, good as the
best,
Waiting, secure and content, which the bullet could
never kill,
Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!

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