He read the list--'twas a sad array
Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray;
In the very midst, was a pause to tell
Of a gallant youth, who fought so well
That his comrades asked: "Who is he, pray?"
"The only son of the Widow Gray,"
Was the proud reply
Of his Captain nigh.
What ails the woman standing near?
Her face has the ashen hue of fear!
"Well, well, read on; is he wounded? quick!
Oh God! but my heart is sorrow-sick!"
"Is he wounded? No! he fell, they say,
Killed outright on that fatal day."
But see, the woman has swooned away!
Sadly she opened her eyes to the light;
Slowly recalled the events of the fight;
Faintly she murmured: "Killed outright!
It has cost me the life of my only son;
But the battle is fought, and the victory won;
The will of the Lord, let it be done!"
God pity the cheerless Widow Gray,
And send from the halls of eternal day,
The light of His peace to illumine her way!
His Last Words.
"A few moments before his death (Stonewall Jackson) he called out in his delirium: 'Order A.P. Hill to prepare for action. Pass the infantry rapidly to the front. Tell Major Hawks--.' Here the sentence was left unfinished. Bat, soon after, a sweet smile overspread his face, and he murmured quietly, with an air of relief: 'Let us cross the river and rest under the shade of the trees.' These were his last words; and, without any expression of pain, or sign of struggle, his spirit passed away."
I.
Come, let us cross the river, and rest beneath the trees,
And list the merry leaflets at sport with every breeze;
Our rest is won by fighting, and Peace awaits us there.
Strange that a cause so blighting produces fruit so fair!
II.
Come, let us cross the river, those that have gone before,
Crush'd in the strife for freedom, await on yonder shore;
So bright the sunshine sparkles, so merry hums the breeze,
Come, let us cross the river, and rest beneath the trees.