And dreams once more
That the war is o'er;
While the South-birds trill
Near the picket-camp still,
And the picket lies dead on the hill.
For men must fight for the sleeping Right,
And God stands by to reckon.
But the account is kept in eternity—there are none lost, no, not one—and the time will come when all shall be found and known who were brave in this world's battles.
* * * * *
We gladly find a corner for the following, by one known to us of old, as no indifferent poet: