Together, as in quiet days
Before the battle's roar,
Nick Hammer and his one-legg'd son
Smoked by the tavern door.
The dead who slept on Sharpsburg Heights
Were not more still than they;
They leaned together like the hills,
But nothing had to say;
Save once, as at his wooden stump
The young man looked awhile,
And damned the man who made that war--
He saw Nick Hammer smile.
"My little boy," the old man said,
"Think long as I have thunk--
You'll find this war rests on the head
Of that 'air Mister Funk!"