Pass on! it is useless to linger
While others are calling your care;
There is need for your delicate finger,
For your womanly sympathy there.
There are sick ones athirst for caressing,
There are dying ones raving at home,
There are wounds to be bound with a blessing,
And shrouds to make ready for some.
They have gathered about you the harvest
Of death in its ghastliest view;
The nearest as well as the furthest
Is there with the traitor and true.
And crowned with your beautiful patience,
Made sunny with love at the heart,
You must balsam the wounds of the nations,
Nor falter nor shrink from your part.
And the lips of the mother will bless you,
And angels, sweet-visaged and pale,
And the little ones run to caress you,
And the wives and the sisters cry hail!
But e'en if you drop down unheeded,
What matter? God's ways are the best:
You have poured out your life where 'twas needed,
And he will take care of the rest.
They Cry Peace, Peace, When There Is No Peace.
By Mrs. Alethea S. Burroughs, of Georgia.
They are ringing peace on my heavy ear--
No peace to my heavy heart!
They are ringing peace, I hear! I hear!
O God! how my hopes depart!
They are ringing peace from the mountain side;
With a hollow voice it comes--
They are ringing peace o'er the foaming tide,
And its echoes fill our homes.
They are ringing peace, and the spring-time blooms
Like a garden fresh and fair;
But our martyrs sleep in their silent tombs--
Do they hear that sound--do they hear?
They are ringing peace, and the battle-cry
And the bayonet's work are done,
And the armor bright they are laying by,
From the brave sire to the son.
And the musket's clang, and the soldier's drill,
And the tattoo's nightly sound;
We shall hear no more, with a joyous thrill,
Peace, peace, they are ringing round!