My boy! Thank God for these tears--I was growing so bitter and hard!
VIII.
Now read me a page from the Book, Harry, that goes in your knapsack to-night,
Of the Eye that sees when the sparrow grows weary and falters in flight.
Talk of something that’s nobler than living; of a Love that is higher than mine;
And a Faith that has planted its banners where the heavenly camp-fires shine.
IX.
Talk of Something that tenderly watches, while the shadows glide down in the yard,
That shall go with my soldier to battle--and stand, with my picket, on guard.
Spirits of loving and lost ones! Watch softly o’er Harry to-night--