As ever dewed the field of glory!
The wife who girds her husband’s sword,
’Mid little ones who weep and wonder;
And bravely speaks the cheering word,
What though her heart be rent asunder—
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear
The bolts of war around him rattle,
Has shed as sacred blood as e’er
Was poured upon the field of battle!
The mother who conceals her grief,