People's Pilot, Volume 2, Number 49, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 May 1893 — The FOLDIER'S MOTER. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The FOLDIER'S MOTER.

Y little sons oft question wonderingly About the cruel * ** war; they want

to know KOf heroes who went forth to victory, Of those great battles fought long years ago. :I tell them: “Mamma was a tiny girl, When news of Sumter fired on filled the land.” -'With stories learned in history at school, I try to interest my little band. .But a 3 to-day I think of other years, A vision of those other mothers comes—- •■ Those mothers who with breaking hearts and tears Sent out best-loved ones from ancestral homes. .Aye! they could tell—if any yet there be— Those white-haired mothers—they could tell a tale! “They know the depths of war's dire misery, They know when tears have been of none ■ avail! Of none avail to bring their dear ones, back, Father and son upon the fatal field—- ■ Think you they have forgotten it? Alack! .. Grie'fs grow apace—joys lighter harvests yield! ::Many will pass with careless look to-day The soldier’s grave, ever a sacred spot— Unnumbered heroes, long since passed This younger generation knew them not! .1 see a white-haired woman kneeling low Beside a mound marked with no costly stone; .A flag floats o'er it; by this sign we know It is a soldier’s grave—she weeps alone! :Some one has placed a chaplet of bright bloom Upon the grave, the mother’s tears fall* fast—'•‘O, Jamie, Jamie! Canst thou not make room For mother? She has come to you at last ■“So many years I’ve sought and found you not— So many years—and ’neath this southern sun, .At last I find your grave, a humble spot. Marked with my Jamie’s name—tho very one! •“Now, God be praised! I’ll go back to my home, I am too old to come to thee again; ■But I have learned to wait—soon death will come And kindly bear me from my toil and pain! “I cannot think but that the Father just Will let me find my soldier boy once moro, Bo gave his life for freedom, and he must Be safe and happy on that peaceful shore!" Tier hair is white, her form is old and bent; She has no other sons to givo away; .Alone, she waits with look and 'hearj; intent— The soldier's mother waits for him to-day! —Dora D. Keeney, in Springfield (Mass.) 'Republican.