III
O mother, you who miss the smiling face
Of that dear boy who vanished from your sight,
And left you weeping o’er the vacant place
He used to fill at night,—
Who left you dazed, bewildered, on a day
That echoed wild huzzas, and roar of guns
That drowned the farewell words you tried to say
To incoherent ones;—
Be glad and proud you had the life to give—
Be comforted through all the years to come,—
Your country has a longer life to live,
Your son a better home.
O widow, weeping o’er the orphaned child,
Who only lifts his questioning eyes to send
A keener pang to grief unreconciled,—
Teach him to comprehend
He had a father brave enough to stand
Before the fire of Treason’s blazing gun,
That, dying, he might will the rich old land
Of Freedom to his son.
And, maiden, living on through lonely years
In fealty to love’s enduring ties,—
With strong faith gleaming through the tender tears
That gather in your eyes,
Look up! and own, in gratefulness of prayer,
Submission to the will of Heaven’s High Host:—
I see your Angel-soldier pacing there,
Expectant at his post.—
I see the rank and file of armies vast,
That muster under one supreme control;
I hear the trumpet sound the signal-blast—
The calling of the roll—
The grand divisions falling into line
And forming, under voice of One alone,
Who gives command, and joins with tongue divine
The hymn that shakes the Throne.