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212 CHILDREN OF THE BATTLE-FIELD.
And rushed, like mountain eagles forth,
From happy homes away, There stood a man of humble fame,
A sire of children three, And gazed, within a little frame,
Their pictured forms to see ; And blame him not if in the strife
He breathed a soldier's prayer, " O ! Father, shield the soldier's wife,
And for his children care."
Upon the field of Gettysburg,
When morning shone a^ain, The crimson cloud of battle burst
In streams of fiery rain : Our legions quelled the awful flood
Of shot, and steel, and shell ; While banners, marked with ball and blood,
Around them rose and fell. And none more nobly won the name
Of Champion for the Free, Than he who pressed the little frame
That held his children three ; And none were braver in the strife,
Than he who breathed the prayer : " O ! Father, shield the soldier's wife,
And for his children care." |
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