JULIA WARD HOWE.

* * * * *

WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER.

Dearest love, do you remember
When we last did meet,
How you told me that you loved me
Kneeling at my feet? 
Oh, how proud you stood before me
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country
Ever to be true.

Chorus.—­Weeping, sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears, how vain;
Yet praying
When this cruel war is over. 
Praying that we meet again.

When the summer breeze is sighing
Mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song. 
Oft in dreams I see thee lying
On the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying,
Calling, but in vain.
Chorus.—­Weeping, sad, etc.

  If, amid the din of battle,
    Nobly you should fall,
  Far away from those who love you,
    None to hear you call,
  Who would whisper words of comfort? 
    Who would soothe your pain? 
  Ah, the many cruel fancies
    Ever in my brain!
  Chorus.—­Weeping, sad, etc.

But our country called you, darling,
Angels cheer your way! 
While our nation’s sons are fighting,
We can only pray. 
Nobly strike for God and country,
Let all nations see
How we love the starry banner,
Emblem of the free.

Chorus.—­Weeping, sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears, how vain;
Yet praying
When this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again.

ANONYMOUS.

* * * * *

SHERIDAN’S RIDE.

[September 19, 1864.]

  Up from the South at break of day,
  Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
  The affrighted air with a shudder bore,
  Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain’s door,
  The terrible grumble and rumble and roar,
  Telling the battle was on once more,
  And Sheridan twenty miles away.

  And wider still those billows of war
  Thundered along the horizon’s bar;
  And louder yet into Winchester rolled
  The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
  Making the blood of the listener cold
  As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
  With Sheridan twenty miles away.

  But there is a road from Winchester town,
  A good, broad highway, leading down;
  And there, through the flash of the morning light,
  A steed as black as the steeds of night
  Was seen to pass as with eagle flight. 
  As if he knew the terrible need,
  He stretched away with the utmost speed;
  Hills rose and fell,—­but his heart was gay,
  With Sheridan fifteen miles away.