Fiercely the orderly rode down the slope of the cornfield-scarred and forlorn, Rutted by violent wheels, and scathed by the shot that had ploughed it in scorn; Fiercely, and burning with wrath for the sight of his comrades crushed at a blow, Flung in broken shapes on the ground like ruined memorials of woe; These were the men whom at daybreak he knew, but never again could know. Thence to the ridge, where roots out thrust, and twisted branches of trees Clutched the hill like clawing lions, firm their prey to seize. "What's your report?" and the grim colonel smiled when the orderly came back at last. Strangely the soldier paused: "Well, they were punished." And strangely his face looked, aghast. Yes, our fire told on them; knocked over fiftylaid out in line of parade. Brave fellows, Colonel, to stay as they did! But one I most wished hadn't stayed. Mortally wounded, he'd torn off his knapsack; and then, at the end, he prayed— Easy to see, by his hands that were clasped; and the dull, dead fingers yet held This little letter-his wife's-from the knapsack. A pity those woods were shelled!" Silent the orderly, watching with tears in his eyes as his officer scanned Four short pages of writing. "What's this, about Marthy Virginia's hand '?” Swift from his honeymoon he, the dead soldier, had gone from his bride to the strife; Never they met again, but she had written him, telling of that new life, Born in the daughter, that bound her still closer and closer to him as his wife. Laying her baby's hand down on the letter, around it she traced a rude line: "If you would kiss the baby," she wrote, "you must kiss this outline of mine." There was the shape of the hand on the page, with the small, chubby fingers outspread. Marthy Virginia's hand, for her pa," -so the words on the little palm said. Never a wink slept the colonel that night, for the vengeance so blindly fulfilled. Never again woke the old battle-glow when the bullets their death-note shrilled. Long ago ended the struggle, in union of brotherhood happily stilled; Yet from that field of Antietam, in warning and token of love's command, See! there is lifted the hand of a baby-Marthy Virginia's hand! GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP. RESIGNATION. THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howso'er defended, The air is full of farewells to the dying, The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Let us be patient! These severe afflictions But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapors ; Amid these earthly damps. What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! What seems so is transition; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call Death. She is not dead,—the child of our affection, But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, Day after day we think what she is doing Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, Not as a child shall we again behold her; In our embraces we again enfold her, But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, And beautiful with all the soul's expansion And though at times impetuous with emotion The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 607324A We will be patient, and assuage the feeling By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. HENRY WADSWORTH LONgfellow. MY FAITH LOOKS UP TO THEE. My faith looks up to Thee, Saviour divine ! Now hear me while I pray; Oh let me from this day May Thy rich grace impart My zeal inspire! As Thou hast died for me, Oh may my love to Thee Pure, warm, and changeless be, A living fire! While life's dark maze I tread, Be Thou my Guide! From Thee aside. |