Think of it, think of it over the water
Thousands of men to-day march on to death,
Think how the sun shines on fields red with slaughter--
How the air chokes, with the cannon's hot breath.
How in the shadows, perchance, of this even,
Hundreds of hearts, will have paused in their beat,
Pale, ghastly brows, will be turned up to heaven--
Brows that were pressed by lips, tender and sweet.
Think of the homes that these battles are leaving
Destitute, desolate, dreary and dumb.
Think of the fond, patient, hearts that are grieving,
Breaking for loved ones, who never will come.
Ah! we so recently felt this same anguish,
Women--Oh! women who suffer and pray,
We well can weep with you, who weep and languish,
We have borne all you are bearing to-day.
"God speed the right," we cry, "God be with Prussia,"
Yet to the mourners of soldiers who fall,
Whether their tears flow in France, or in Russia,
Their dead are their dead, and we pity them all.
Think of it, think of it, hearts that are breaking,
Sorrowing, suffering, over the sea.
Think of the eyes that are blinded and aching
With watching for those whom they never will see.
[FLOWERS FOR THE BRAVE.]
Gather them out of the valley--
Bring them from moorland and hill,
And cast them in wreaths and in garlands.
On the city so silent and still--
So voiceless, so silent, and still;
Where neighbor speaks never to neighbor,
Where the song of the bird, and the brown bee is heard,
But never the harsh sounds of labor.
Bring them from woodland and meadow--
As fresh, and as fair, as can be.
Bring them, all kinds, and all colors.
That grow upon upland and lea--
That spring in wild grace on the lea.
And rifle the green earth's warm bosom
Of each flower, and blow, till "God's acre" shall glow
And bloom, like a garden in blossom.
Bring them from vase, and from hot-house,
And strew them with bountiful hand.
There is nothing too rare for the soldier,
Who laid down his life for his land--
Who laid down _all things_ for his land;
And turned to the duty before him,
And how now can we prove, our thanks and our love
But by casting these May blossoms o'er him.