Forget? Never!
A Poem By: Mrs. C.A. Ball
Charles Moran of Decatur, Georgia found the following poem folded into the back of a picture album owned by his great aunt upon her demise. Charles is the son of the late Charles A. Moran, Gordon Camp Commander 1959
Forget? Never!
Can the mother forget the child of her love
who was into her tenderest heartstrings wove,
who lisped his first prayer her knee beside
and grew to manhood her joy and pride?
Can she look over his early grave
and forgetting the cause he died to save,
think of his past in her thoughts are too fresh, I ween
Forget? Never!
Can the father forget his first born son
who ere his boyhood was fairly young,
shouldered his musket and left his side
and for love of his country fought and died?
Think you oblivion's waves can roll
over a parent's stricken soul?
Oh no, the past with its waves of blood
surges his heart like a mighty flood.
Forget? Never!
Can the sister forget the brother beloved
who with her thought haunts of childhood moved?
Can she think of the wound on his manly brow
which laid his proud form forever low?
And can memory be a thing of naught
and the years with such fearful anguish fraught
be unto her as they neer had been?
Oh no, they will ever fresh and green.
Forget? Never!
Can the maiden forget the noble youth
who had pledged to her his love and truth?
Can the wife forget the husband died
who for love of his country left her side?
Can the stricken orphan dry her tears
and think no more of those vanished years?
Dark years of terror, of death and woe?
Their bleeding hearts cry no, oh no.
Forget? Never!
Can any true southern heart forget
while our land with blood and tears is wet?
While the mothers, the widows, the orphans wail,
is borne to our ears from hill and vale?
While our homesteads in ashes round us lie
and for bread our starving myriads cry?
While he, the head of our fallen cause
gainst mercy's plea and honours laws,
pines still within his prison walls
and justice in vain for his freedom calls.
Forget? Never!
Time may bring healing upon his wings,
may bind in our hearts the shattered strings
forgiving of injuries yet may come,
though (occupation) be felt in each southern home.
But ask no more the terrible past
must ever be ours while life shall last.
Ours with its memories, ours with its pain
ours with its best blood shed like rain.
Its sacrifice -- all made in vain.
Forget? Never!
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