Classic Poem

They say that his body is laid in the grave;
They say for his country he died;
But the mother-heart in its loneliness throbs,
And has still in its anguish sighed,
“Oh! where is he now,—my generous boy!
My precious one! where is he?
Will he never return, in the battle who fell
As he fought 'neath the flag of the free?

Where is he? I tended his baby form;
I watched him in childhood's glee;
I cheered his young manhood, and hoped his strength
Would be prop in old age for me.
But I gave him up when his country called;
I laid him on Freedom's shrine:
Oh! why should I murmur if God, who asked
For the offering, accepted mine?

I murmur not, though the far-off West
Is the grave for such as he,
While I must miss him forevermore
From my home by the sounding sea:
For my country needs in this peril-hour
The costliest gifts, I know;
Then I'll murmur not, but I still must weep.
I'm his mother, and loved him so!

I am cheered by the shout of the victor-host;
I rejoice in the triumph of Right;
And I look on the flag with a loving eye
Beneath which my son could fight;
And the comforting words which pitying friends
Are speaking so oft to me,—
They are welcome,—I'm thankful; but, midst them all,
I whisper, “Where is he?”

His merry laugh and his graceful form,
His words full of kindness and love,
Shall I know them no more, save by Memory's power,
Till I meet my young soldier above?
I will try to be patient, O land of my birth!
I'm willing to suffer for thee;
And the patriot's fire in my heart still burns,
Though I'm asking “Where is he?”

O God of the mother whose holy trust
Is placed on thy promise sure!
Give strength to the torn and bleeding hearts
Counted worthy to endure,
And answer the cry, “Oh! where is he?”
With the whisper to each sad heart,
“Though he comes no more, thou shalt go to him:
Ye shall meet no more to part.”