She by the hearth, through long hours slow measure, Watched and yearned, and suffered and prayed; Read o’er his letters, lovingly treasured, Hoped his return,—to hope, half afraid.
“God is good,” she said. “His love will infold him, Protect him, and bring him safe to me again; I shall hear him once more, in rapture behold him,— Oh, blessed reward, for my waiting and pain!”
In camp, on the field, on marches long, weary, Her face and her voice in his heart’s inner shrine He kept; they brightened his way when most dreary, Lifted his life to the Life all divine.
He fell in the ranks, at awful Stone River, Blood of our heroes made sacred that sod; On battle’s red tide his soul went out ever Forward and upward, to meet with his God.
Worn, grown old, yet tenderly keeping, Every May month, sad tryst with her dead, She knows not where her darling is sleeping, She lays no garlands on his low bed.
All soldiers’ graves claim her love and her blessing: She decks them with flowers made sacred by tears; Love of her heart for her soldier expressing, “Love that is stronger than death,” through the years.
Soon in the land of unfading beauty, He, faithful knight of valor and truth, She, living martyr to country and duty, Shall find the sweetness and love of their youth.
Honor the dead with the richest oblation,— Cover their graves with laurel and palm! Honor the living for life’s consecration,— Give to their pierced hearts love’s healing balm. Mary Bassett Hussey.