360 POEMS 
Now looking back through years of memory, 
That all of school or college, all the lore 
Of worldly maxims, all the statesman’s store, 
Were naught beside that voice’s mastery. 
If any good to me or from me came 
Through life, and if no influence less divine 
Has quite usurped the place of duty’s flame; 
If aught rose worthy in this heart of mine, 
Aught that, viewed backward, wears no shade 
of shame, — 
Bless thee, old friend! for that high call was 
thine. 
CAMBRIDGE, December 17, 1887. 
WAITING FOR THE BUGLE 
[Read before the Grand Army Post (56) of veteran soldiers, at 
Cambridge, Mass., May 25, 1888. Set to music by Francis Boott, 
Esq.] 
WE wait for the bugle; the night-dews are 
cold, 
The limbs of the soldiers feel jaded and old, 
The field of our bivouac is windy and bare, 
There is lead in our joints, there is frost in our 
hair, 
The future is veiled and its fortunes unknown, ~ 
As we lie with hushed breath till the bugle is 
blown. 
