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O God! that one of thy creatures

Should e'er work such woe on another!

Wipe the sweat from his brow with your kerchief;
Let the stain tattered collar go wide,

See! he stretches out blindly to search if
The surgeon still stands at his side.
My son's over yonder! he's wounded-
Oh! this ball that has broken my thigh!"
And again he burst out, all a-tremble,-
"In thy mercy, O God! let me die!"

Pass on! It is useless to linger

While others are claiming your care; There is need of your delicate finger, For your womanly sympathy, there! There are sick ones athirst for caressing— There are dying ones raving for homeThere are wounds to be bound with a blessingAnd shrouds to make ready for some.

They have gathered about you the harvest
Of death, in its ghastliest view;

The nearest as well as the farthest

Is here with the traitor and true!
And crowned with your beautiful patience,
Made sunny with love at the heart,
You must balsam the wounds of a nation,
Nor falter, nor shrink from your part!

Up and down through the wards, where the fever
Stalks noisome, and gaunt and impure,
You must go with your steadfast endeavor
To comfort, to counsel, to cure!
I grant that the task 's superhuman,
But strength will be given to you
To do for these dear ones what woman
Alone in her pity can do.

And the lips of the mothers will bless you
As angels sweet visaged and pale!
And the little ones run to caress you,
While the wives and the sisters cry
But e'en if you drop down unheeded,

"Hail!"

What matter? God's ways are the best;

You've poured out your life where 't was needed,
And He will take care of the rest.

[Southern.]

[graphic]

THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND MORE.

E are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more,

WE

From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore;

We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear,

With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear;
We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before:
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand
more!

If you look across the hill-tops that meet the northern sky, Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry; And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside,

And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride, And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour:

We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more !

If you look all up our valleys where the growing harvests shine,

You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into line; And children from their mother's knees are pulling at

the weeds,

And learning how to reap and sow against their country's needs;

And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage

door :

We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more !

You have called us, and we 're coming, by Richmond's bloody tide

To lay us down, for Freedom's sake, our brothers' bones

beside,

Or from foul treason's savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade,

And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade. Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before:

We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more !

Vol. II.

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[During the battles in the Wilderness at the beginning of the campaign of 1864, General Robert E. Lee, impressed with the desperate necessity of carrying a certain peculiarly difficult position, seized the colors of a Texas regiment and undertook to lead the perilous assault in person. The troops and their colonel remonstrated with vehemence, the colonel, in his men's behalf, pledging the regiment to carry the position if General Lee would retire. The troops advanced to the charge shouting "Lee to the Rear!" as a sort of battle cry.-EDITOR.]

AWN of a pleasant morning in May

DA

Broke through the Wilderness cool and gray; While perched in the tallest tree-tops, the birds Were carolling Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words."

Far from the haunts of men remote,

The brook brawled on with a liquid note;

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