Above all, lo, the sky, so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds; Below, too, all calm, all vital and beautiful—and the farm prospers well.
3.
Down in the fields all prospers well;
But now from the fields come, father—come at the daughter's call;
And come to the entry, mother—to the front door come, right away.
Fast as she can she hurries—something ominous—her steps trembling;
She does not tarry to smooth her white hair, nor adjust her cap.
4.
Open the envelope quickly;
O this is not our son's writing, yet his name is signed;
O a strange hand writes for our dear son—O stricken mother's soul!
All swims before her eyes—flashes with black—she catches the main words
only;
Sentences broken—"gun-shot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken
to hospital,
At present low, but will soon be better."
5.
Ah, now the single figure to me,
Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all its cities and farms,
Sickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint,
By the jamb of a door leans.
6.
"Grieve not so, dear mother," the just-grown daughter speaks through her
sobs;
The little sisters huddle around, speechless and dismayed;
"See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better."