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210 A SOLDIERS PSALM OF WOMAN.
O, maidens, in whose dewy eyes,
Perennial comforts glitter, Untangling war's dark mysteries,
And making sweet the bitter :
In desolate paths, or dangerous posts,
By places which, to-morrow, Shall be unto these bannered hosts
Aceldamas of sorrow, We hear the sound of helping feet, —
We feel your soft caressings; And all our life starts up to greet
Your lovingness with blessings!
On cots of pain, on beds of woe,
Where stricken heroes languish, Wan faces smile and sick hearts grow
Triumphant over anguish. While souls that starve in lonely gloom,
Flush green with odorous praises ; And all the lowly pallets bloom
With Gratitude's white daisies.
O, lips, that from our wounds have sucked
The fever and the burning ! O, tender fingers, that have plucked
The madness from our mourning ! |
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