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