h never I come from the picket's line,
But a faded suit of grey:
Yet over my death will the road be safe,
And the regiment march away."

"In a mother's name, I bless thee, lad,"
The Colonel drew him near:
"But first in the name of God," said Dan,
"And then is my mother's dear--
Her own good lips that taught me well,
With the Cross of Christ no fear."

Quickly he rode by valley and hill,
On to the outpost line,
Till the pickets arise by wall and mound,
And the levelled muskets shine;
"Halt!" they cried, "count three to death,
Or give us the countersign."

Lightly the lad leaped from his steed,
No fear was in his sigh,
But a mother's face and a home he loved
Under an Irish sky:
He made the Sign of the Cross and stood,
Bravely he stood to die.

Lips in a prayer at the blessed Sign,
And calmly he looked around,
And wonder seized his waiting soul
To hear no musket sound,
But only the pickets calling to him,
Heartily up the mound.

For this was the order of Beauregard
Around his camp that day--
The Sign of the Cross was countersign,
(And a blessing to Dan O'Shea)
And the word came quick to Colonel Smith
For the muster of the grey.

A HILL O' LIGHTS

Turn from Kerry crossroads and leave the wooded dells,
Take the mountain path and find where Tip O'Leary dwells;
Tip O'Leary is the name, I sing it all day long,
And every bird whose heart is wise will have it for a song.

Tip O'Leary keeps the lights of many lamps aglow,
Little matters it to him the seasons come or go,
Sure if spring is in the air his hedges are abloom,
And fairy buds like candles shine across his garden room.

Roses in the June days are light the miles around,
Tapers of the fuchsias move along the August ground,
Sumachs light the flaming torches by October's grave
And like the campfires on the hills the oaks and maples wave.

All the lights but only one die out when summer goes,
One that Tip O'Leary keeps is brighter than the rose,
Through the window comes the bloom on any winter night,
And every sense goes wild to it, soft and sweet and bright.

Lamps are fair that have the light from flowers all day long,
When the birds are here and sing the Tip O'Leary song,
But a winter window is the fairest rose of all,
When Tip O