The Cry of the Prisoners by Serg. G.I. Hyatt - 1865

The Cry of the Prisoners

Serg. G.I. Hyatt

 

Written by Serg. G.I. Hyatt, Co. F., Pa. Volunteers, at Andersonville, Ga., January 1st, 1865.  He died the next day.

 

When our country called for men, we came from forge and store and mill,

We left our quiet homes, each the one he loved so well,

To vanquish all our Union's foes or fall where others fell.

Now, in the prison drear, we languish with this one constant cry,

"O! ye who yet can save us, will you leave us here to die?"

 

The voice of slander tells you that our hearts are weak with fear,

That all, or nearly all of us, were captured in the roar;

The scars upon our bodies, from musket, ball and shell,

The missing legs, and shattered arms, another talk will tell. 

We have tried to do our duty in sight of God on high.

"O! ye who yet can save us, will you leave us here to die?"

 

There are hearts with hopes still beating, in our pleasant Northern homes,

Waiting, watching for the footsteps that never more will come;

In a Southern prison pining, meagre, tattered, pale and gaunt,

Growing weaker, daily weaker, from pinching cold and want.

There brothers, sons, and husbands, poor and helpless, captured lie,

"O! ye who yet can save us will you leave us here to die?"

 

Just outside our prison gate, is a graveyard near at hand,

Where lie fifteen thousand Union men, beneath the Georgia sand;

Scores and scores are laid beside them, as day succeeds to day,

And thus it shall be even till the last shall pass away;

And the last can say in dying, with uplifted, glaring eye,

Both faith and love are dead at home, 

THEY'VE  LEFT US HERE TO DIE!