How have our honored dead fought on in gloom! Peace her white wings will spread over their tomb; Why waited their reward, triumph and rest, Till molds the hero form? Thou knowest best!
Shades of our heroes! the Union now is one, The star whose destiny none may outrun; Tears of the bleeding slave poured on her breast, When to be wiped away, Thou knowest best!
Thou who in the Christ hallowed its grief,-- O meekest of mourners, while yet the chief,-- Give to the pleading hearts comfort and rest, In that benediction which knoweth best!
It matters not what be thy lot, So Love doth guide; For storm or shine, pure peace is thine, Whate'er betide.
And of these stones, or tyrants' thrones, God able is To raise up seed--in thought and deed-- To faithful His.
Aye, darkling sense, arise, go hence! Our God is good. False fears are foes--truth tatters those, When understood.
Love looseth thee, and lifteth me, Ayont hate's thrall: There Life is light, and wisdom might, And God is All.
The centuries break, the earth-bound wake, God's glorified! Who doth His will--His likeness still-- Is satisfied.
Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., _January, 1900_.