No more with this had she to do;
  God and her little ones were left;
  And unto these, serene and true,
  She gave the life so soon bereft
  Of its first gifts, and rose anew

  At duty’s call to make amends
  For all her loss of loves and lands;
  And found, to speed her noble ends,
  The succor of uplifting hands,
  And solace of a thousand friends.

  And o’er her precious graves she built
  A stone whereon the yellow boss
  Of sword on sword with naked hilt
  Lay as the symbol of her cross,
  In mournful meaning, carved and gilt.

  And underneath were graved the lines:—­

  “They did the duty that they saw;
  both wrought at god’s supreme designs
  and, under love’s eternal law,
  each life with equal beauty shines.”

  XXX.

  Peace, with its large and lilied calms,
  Like moonlight sleeps on land and lake,
  With healing in its dewy balms,
  For pride that pines and hearts that ache,
  From Huron to the land of palms!

  From rock-bound Massachusetts Bay
  To San Francisco’s Golden Gate;
  From where Itasca’s waters play,
  To those which plunge or palpitate
  A thousand happy leagues away,

  And drink, among her dunes and bars,
  The Mississippi’s boiling tide,
  Still floating from a million spars,
  The nation’s ensign, undefied,
  Blazons its galaxy of stars.

  No more to party strife the slave,
  And freed from Hate’s infernal spells,
  Love pays her tribute to the brave,
  And snows her holy immortelles
  O’er friend and foe, where’er his grave.

  On every Decoration Day
  The white-haired Mildred finds her mounds
  Decked with the garnered bloom of May—­
  Flowers planted first within her wounds,
  And fed by love as white as they.

  And Philip’s first-born, strong and sage,
  Through Heaven’s design or happy chance
  Finds the old church his heritage,
  And still, The Mistress of the Manse,
  Sits Mildred, in her silver age!