My Soldier-Son.
49
MY SOLDIER-SON.[1]
THE sweet spring comes, whose gentle hand
Unlocks the chains from shore and stream,
And flushed with joy, the freed earth stands
Triumphant in the morning's beam;
And songs of birds, and hum of bees,
And murmuring water's lulling sound,
Are borne on every passing breeze,
That scatters joy and fragrance round.
Unlocks the chains from shore and stream,
And flushed with joy, the freed earth stands
Triumphant in the morning's beam;
And songs of birds, and hum of bees,
And murmuring water's lulling sound,
Are borne on every passing breeze,
That scatters joy and fragrance round.
Life starts anew in all its forms;
The merest creeping thing that moves,
Basks in the self-same ray that warms
Sweet birds, that soaring chant their loves.
And shall not spring unclose the eyes
Of him, who weary sank to rest,
And sought, from wintry storms and skies,
Deep refuge in earth's sheltering breast?
The merest creeping thing that moves,
Basks in the self-same ray that warms
Sweet birds, that soaring chant their loves.
And shall not spring unclose the eyes
Of him, who weary sank to rest,
And sought, from wintry storms and skies,
Deep refuge in earth's sheltering breast?
- ↑ Arthur G. Eaton, of the Ninth Vermont Volunteers, died November 8th, 1862.
