And fame shall never know the story,

Her heart has shed a drop as dear

As e’er bedewed the field of glory.

The wife who girds her husband’s sword,

’Mid little ones who weep or wonder,

And bravely speaks the cheering word,

What though her heart be rent asunder,

Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear

The bolts of death around him rattle,

Hath shed as sacred blood as e’er

Was poured upon a field of battle!

The mother who conceals her grief,

While to her breast her son she presses,

Then breathes a few brave words and brief,

Kissing the patriot brow she blesses,

With no one but her secret God

To know the pain that weighs upon her,

Sheds holy blood as e’er the sod

Received on Freedom’s field of honor!

[Pg 51]

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