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Posts Tagged ‘Atlanta’

john bell hood

Hood battered Sherman’s men to no avail,
Gave up Atlanta, fled, and forged a trail
To Tennessee, his thirty thousand worn
By war and miles, a cob with half its corn.
 

At Franklin, Union lines were fortified,
Which checked not John Bell Hood’s aggressive side.
As futile as the clapper ‘gainst the bell,
Hood hammered and six thousand Rebels fell. 

A dozen generals were dead or gone,
And fifty leaders more lay on the lawn.
But Hood was like a moth drawn to a flame,
And hemmed in Nashville with his army lame. 

Blue’s Thomas, turtle-like, took his sweet time,
Then poured forth from the city at his prime.
Gray’s west was flanked; the Rebel line was rolled,
And Hood was done, a story finished, told. 

Hood’s army’s head at Franklin was bereft.
Now, half of half was all that he had left.
Post-Nashville, fewer feet by far remained,
And Hood resigned, his honor ever stained.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

 

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Atlanta

One year, a present Sherman gave
To Lincoln for the Yule
To cheer the dour president
In his long arduous rule.

It was the perfect offering,
And not from ease or thrift,
For William gave to Abraham
Atlanta as a gift.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2017.

 

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different

I’d like a different sky before I die
The southern cross, the magic northern lights,
A tropic moon through palm trees, like a pie,
The jagged blue left by Mt. Everest’s bites.

And from a distance, on the Kansas plain,
I’d like to see a rope descend and swell.
And somewhere in the Rocky Mountain chain
Sit watching while a blizzard works its spell.

I’d like a different path before I die –
Boone-blazed, through Wilderness, his road;
Or tread where elephants against the sky
Crossed Alps with Hannibal their brazen load;

Or march scorched earth – Atlanta to the sea
Where Sherman and his locusts laid all waste;
And contrast that with Paul’s first ministry
Till all his journey I have then retraced.

A different place to stand before I die
Would let me see the world through others’ eyes –
Where first Balboa did Pacific spy,
Where Cook stood looking at his North Pole prize.

I’d like to stand, considering man’s fate
Where Jesus wept o’er doomed Jerusalem;
And look to Earth, and heaven contemplate
From where stood Armstrong on his podium.

I’d like a different me before I die
A little less of all that’s cold and hard,
A serving more of love and humble pie,
A softer me that’s nothing like a shard.

In living then, I must be on my way;
I have no certain schedule like a train.
Tomorrow is not promised, just today.
The now of Time as king will ever reign.


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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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Like the tribes of Israel,
Fed on quails and manna,
Sherman and his glorious band
Journeyed through the rebel land,
Fed from Heaven’s all-bounteous hand,
Marching on Savannah!

As the moving pillar shone,
Streamed the starry banner
All day long in rosy light,
Flaming splendor all the night,
Till it swooped in eagle flight
Down on doomed Savannah!

Glory be to God on high!
Shout the loud Hosanna!
Treason’s wilderness is past,
Canaan’s shore is won at last,
Peal a nation’s trumpet-blast, –
Sherman’s in Savannah!

Soon shall Richmond’s tough old hide
Find a tough old tanner!
Soon from every rebel wall
Shall the rag of treason fall,
Till our banner flaps o’er all
As it crowns Savannah!

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At eighty-four, he stood in winter’s cold
And rain to honor foe who died as friend.
“Put on your hat,” he worriedly was told.
“No, he would not wear hat at my life’s end.”

Pallbearer, later he caught cold that day;
Pneumonia was the price of honor paid.
And like the one he helped to put away,
In weeks, with honor, was in his grave laid.

A score and six years after civil war,
The one who lost Atlanta by retreat –
Gray’s General Joe Johnston suffered more
At Sherman’s hands and grave: a last defeat.

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It was at the Union’s General Sherman’s death that Johnston, as a pallbearer, stood bareheaded in New York’s February winter, caught a cold, and died from pneumonia.

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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