Where rifles are ringing the peal of death,
And the dying hero yields his breath.
Where the mother and sister in silence sit,
And far into midnight sew and knit,
And pray for the soldier-brother or son,—
God's blessing on all that the four have done!
Where the traitors plot, in foul debate,
To war with God and strive with fate;
Digging pitfalls to catch them slaves,—
Pitfalls, to serve for their own deep graves.