The maid who binds her warrior's sash
With smile
that well her pain dissembles,
The while beneath her drooping lash
One starry
teardrop hangs and trembles,
Though Heaven alone records the tear,
And fame
shall never know her story,
Her heart has shed a drop as dear
As e'er
bedewed the field of glory!
The wife who girds her husband's sword
'Mid little
ones who weep or wonder
And bravely speaks the cheering word,
What though
her heart be rent asunder.
Doomed nightly in her dreams to hear
The bolts
of death around him rattle,
Hath shed as sacred blood as e'er
Was poured upon the field of battle!
The mother who conceals her grief
While to
her breast her son she presses.
Then breathes a few brave words and brief,
Kissing the
patriot brow she blesses.
With no one but her secret God
To know the
pain that weighs upon her,
Sheds holy blood as e'er the sod
Received on
freedom's field of honor!
Thomas
Buchanan Read.
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