II.
Oh! widow'd woman, sitting in thy weeds,
With thy young brood around thee, sad and lone,
Thy fancy sees thy hero where he bleeds,
And still thou hear'st his moan!
Dying he calls on thee--again--again!
With blessing and fond memories. Be of cheer;
He has not died--he did not bless--in vain:
For, in the eternal rounds of GOD, HE squares
The account with sorrowing hearts; and soothes the fears,
And leads the orphans home, and dries the widow's tears.
Charleston Mercury.