I laughed a little my fear to hide;
But I felt my memory backward glide
To the home I left on the river-side.
I saw that cabin of logs once more,
The ceiling low and the sanded floor,
And my wife the cradle leaning o’er.
I saw her bending with girlish grace,
And I knew the mother was trying to trace
The father’s look in the infant’s face.
The house-dog pricked his watchful ear—