[citation needed] "The Picket-Guard", Harper's Weekly, 1861: “All quiet along the Potomac,” they say, “Except, now and then, a stray picket Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon Or the light of the watch-fire, are gleaming.

His musket falls slack—his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep— For their mother—may Heaven defend her !

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree, The footstep is lagging and weary ; Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Toward the shade of the forest so dreary.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night, No sound save the rush of the river ; While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead— The picket’s off duty forever !