The Soldier's Grave.
By Fannie Isabelle Sherrick
[To the memory of Lieut. Wm. W. Wardell, of the First Massachusetts Cavalry, killed May 28, 1864.]
Above his head the cypress waves
Its dark green drooping leaves;
The sunlight through its branches wide
Where bright birds linger side by side
A golden net-work weaves.
Within the church-yard's silent gloom
He lies in quiet rest;
And never more to cold, pale brow,
Or proud lips mute with silence now
Will loving lips be pressed.
Perhaps even now in death's dark dream
He sees the deadly strife;
Where brothers fought with blinded eyes,
Forgetting all the tender ties
That bound them life to life.
Ah! nobly there he proudly rode
With honest, warm, true heart;
And shrank not from the carnage red,
But bravely thee, among the dead,
He took a soldier's part.
Yet soon his hands fell helplessly,
Low at his trembling side;
For on his brow the death drops rose,
While in his heart the life-blood froze
And died his young life's pride.
The dark brown eyes, whose loving glance
Gave happiness to all,
Have closed their weary lids for aye
Beneath the sunset of life's day,
Where dark'ning shadows fall.
Oh, weary years that still creep on
Adown the sands of Time,
Give back the loving tones of yore,
That haunt us here forever more
As echoing church bell's chime.
And yet it cannot, cannot be
That hearts must ever grieve;
Above his head the shadows fall,
Yet still the sunbeams shine through all
And mystic splendors weave.
And thus upon the grieving heart
That ever weeps for him,
The dark clouds fall, yet God's sweet light
Of faith still onward takes its flight,
Through shadows vast and grim.
Oh! faint heart, with thy clinging grief,
Look upward to the sky;
For there, beyond the weary strife,
Where angels ever guard thy life,
There's One who hears thy cry.
Within the "City of the Dead"
He only lies asleep;
And soon his hand will clasp once more
Thine own as oft he did of your,
With love's pure feeling deep.