Down the picket-guarded lane
Rolled the comfort-laden wain,
Cheered by shouts that shook the plain,
Soldier-like and merry—
Phrases such as camps may teach,
Sabre cuts of Saxon speech,
Such as "Bully!" "Them's the peach!"
"Wade in, Sanitary!"
Right and left the caissons drew
As the car went lumbering through,
Quick succeeding in review
Squadrons military—
Sunburnt men, with beard like frieze,
Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these:
"U. S. San. Com." "That's the cheese!"
"Pass on, Sanitary!"
In such cheer it struggled on,
Till the battle-front was won;
Then the car, its journey done,
Lo! was stationary.
And where bullets whistling fly,
Came the sadder, fainter cry,
"Help us, brothers! or we die;
"Save us, Sanitary!"
Such the work! The phantom flies,
Wrapped in battle-clouds that rise;
But the closing ears and eyes,
Veiled and visionary,
See the jasper gates swung wide,
See the parted throng inside,
Hear a voice to those that ride—
"Pass in, Sanitary!"