Classic Poem

They had smoothed his limbs for the last, long sleep;
That graceful form was still;
And the clustering curls on his forehead slept
Like flowers which the dew-drops fill.

But oh! on his face was a heavenly smile,
A look which the angels wear,
As if he had drank from the cup of joy,
And his heart was free from care.

A smile that told of an angel guard
By the form of the soldier dead,—
Aye, told yet more, that the light of heaven
Around that form was shed;

That the soul, as it sped to the realms of bliss,
Went forth with exultant joy:
Accept the omen, O mother-heart
That weeps for thy soldier-boy!

He may not tread in the paths he loved
With the voice and smile of yore;
But his spirit may still commune with thine
As he looks from the “shining shore.”

And his voice to thee, like his parting smile,
Is the echo of hope and joy;
Saying, “Faint not till thy work is done,
Then come to thy darling boy!”

So gird thee, mother, for future strife;
Toil on in the path assigned
By the Infinite Wisdom that looks to see
Thy will to his resigned.

And the hour shall come, when, the dark veil rent,
Thy soul shall be filled with joy,
As amid the crowned, victorious host,
Thou shalt greet thy patriot boy.