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Title: The Wayside Death
Author: John S. Adams [
More Titles by Adams]
Not many years since, an old man, who had for a longtime sat by the wayside depending upon the charity of those who passed by for his daily bread, died a few moments after receiving an ill-mannered reply to his request for alms. Subsequent inquiries proved that he had been a soldier in the American Revolution.
WHEN Freedom's call rang o'er the land,
To bring its bold defenders nigh,
Young Alfred took a foremost stand,
Resolved to gain the day or die.
And well he fought, and won the trust;
When the day's conflicts had been braved,
The foe's proud ensigns lay in dust,
While Freedom's banner victor waved.
But now he is a poor old man,
And they who with him, side by side,
Fought bravely in that little van,
Have left him, one by one,--have died.
And now to no one can he tell,
Though touched with patriot fire his tongue,
The story of those days which well
Deserve to be by freemen sung,
And cherished long as life shall last;
To childhood told, that it may know
Who braved the storm when came the blast,
And vanquished Freedom's direst foe.
He sits there on the curb-stone now,
That brave old man of years gone by;
His head 'neath age and care would bow,
But yet he raiseth it on high,
And, stretching out his feeble hands,
He asks a penny from man's purse,
Food for himself from off that land
He fought to save. Yet, but a curse
Falls from their lips to greet his ear;
And he, despairing, turns and sighs,
And bows his head,--there fills one tear,
It is the last-he dies.
Now men do rudely lift his hat,
To gaze upon his furrowed face,
And say, "It is the man who sat
Here for so long a foul disgrace."
Crowds gather round the spot to see,
And then pass idly on, and say,
To those who ask who it can be,
"'T is but a vagrant of the way."
Thus he who fought and bled to gain
The blessings which are round us strewn,
For one he asked, besought in vain,
Received man's curse, and died-unknown.
O, my own country! shall it be,
That they who through thy struggle passed,
And bore thy banner manfully,
Shall thus neglected die at last?
O, shall it be no help shall come
From thy overflowing wealth to bless?
Wilt thou be blind, wilt thou be dumb,
To pleas like theirs in wretchedness?
Answer! and let your answer be
A helping hand lowered down to raise
From want and woe those who for thee
Won all thy honor, all thy praise,
And made thee what thou art to-day,
A refuge and a hope for man;
Speak! ere the last one wings away;
Act! act while yet to-day you can.
[The end]
John S. Adams's Poem: Wayside Death
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