Dazed, she sits in the twilight
Of the funeral-darkened room,
Her whole soul gathered to listen--alas!
For a voice that is stilled in the tomb.
Dear voice, now silent forever!
God help her! It seems a dream!
She hopes, even now she may waken;
But see yonder cruel sunbeam.
How it wanders over the carpet--
It lights up the distant room--
It falls on his portrait--_his_ portrait!--
His face shines out in the gloom
As warmly and loving as ever;--
But, oh, there hangs under its frame
The sword he has wielded so bravely--
The blade that has lettered his name
On the tablets of Glory--erected
O'er the bodies of thousands of slain;
Who have died to preserve the Republic!
_Our_ loss--but the nation's great gain.
Wring the small, white hands together--
Clasp them close over the breast:--
Prisoned heart, throbbing so wildly,
Never again to know rest.
Can you not leap and be joyful,
Knowing the nation is free!
Gentle-eyed Peace is but waiting
Sure of a welcome, to be.
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