A Poem for Hill Country: The Man Who Brings Up The Rear End by Sam Foss

Posted by Terry Thornton
email: hillcountrymonroecounty@gmail.com

Long-term readers of Hill Country know of my fondness for the poetry of American writer Sam Walter Foss. Today I've selected another of his Back Country Poems (Boston: Lee and Shepard Publishers. 1894), "The Man Who Brings Up The Rear End" from pages 206 - 08.

Foss' poetry can be funny and, at the same time, make some astute observations. Such is the case with his assessment of those who bring up the rear.

THE MAN WHO BRINGS UP THE REAR END

by

Sam Walter Foss

from BACK COUNTRY POEMS

Folks watch the drum major and say "see him come!"

And the fellow who plays on the fife,

And the rub-a-dub man who beats the big drum,

And the bugler who blows for dear life.

They go with the music; they march with the noise;

For the chief in the van they all hunt,

There is smiling of maidens and shouting of boys,

And cheering of men --- in the front.

But there's never a cheer that gladdens te ear,

Nor the shout of a brother or friend,

For the mud spattered man who has dropped from the van,

For the man who brings up the rear end.

Not a bravo is heard, not a word, not a word,

As they see him stub on round the bend;

Not a cheer from the churls, not a smile from the girls,

For the man who brings up the read end!

There are shouts for the victor whose name like a star,

Rose red from the hot clouds of fame,

Thro' the battle smoke of a lurid war,

To climb up the heaven of fame.

And his ears are beset with a tumult of tongues,

That prate of the danger he braved,

With a chorus of praise from the lusty lungs

Of the men of the land he has saved.

But I sing of the man who has dropped from the van,

From the front he could never defend,

Who could never await the harsh volleys of of fate ---

The man who brings up the rear end!

Then a good strong shout in the rear of the rout,

And the brotherly cheer of a friend;

A cheer that shall start from the core of the heart,

For the man who brings up the rear end.

And who are the men who bring up the rear end?

The laggards too weak to be great?

Time's water-logged timber too rotten to mend?

Abortions and weakling of fate?

Not so: There are poets whose songs are unsung,

And singers of wonderful tone,

Reformers whose thunderous words might have stung

To the roots of a tottering throne!

Then shout your huzzas and your loudest hurrahs,

Until the loud welkin shall rend;

Let your loud plaudits grace the world-weary face

Of the man who brings up the rear end!

Then shout without fear for the man in the rear,

Let your heaven-scaling plaudits ascend!

Cry aloud! cry aloud! you men there in the crowd!

For the man who brings up the rear end!

There are plebeian souls who sit on a throne,

And Kings who wear never a crown;

There are long-gowned priests who are devils unknown,

And saints in the frock of the clown;

There are hearts that are black 'neath the King's purple vest,

And white 'neath the swain's drilling frock,

And the laborer's coat may be armor the best

For meeting adversity's shock.

Then a cheer and a roar, and three cheers more,

For the man most in need of a friend;

Good cheer fo the man who has dropped from the van,

The man who brings up the rear end!

Then shout your cheer right into his ear,

Let your voices in unity blend;

One loud, long shout in the rear of the rout,

For the man who brings up th rear end!