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Did they think of me, dear Alice?
Did they think of me, and say,
"God bless him, and God bless him!
Dear father, far away?"

Oh, my very heart grows sick, Alice, I long so to behold

Rose, with her

pure, white forehead,

And Maud, with her curls of gold;
And Willie, so gay and sprightly,
So merry and full of glee;
Oh, my heart yearns to enfold ye,
My "smiling group of three!"

I can bear the noisy day, Alice;
The camp life, gay and wild,
Shuts from my yearning bosom
The thoughts of wife and child:
But when the night is round me,

And under its strong beams

I gather my cloak about me,

I dream such long, sad dreams!

I think of the pale young wife, Alice,
Who looked up in my face
When the drum beat at evening,
And called me to my place.
I think of the three sweet birdlings
Left in the dear home-nest,
And my soul is sick with longings
That will not be at rest.

Oh, when will the war be over, Alice! Oh, when shall I behold

Rose, with her pure, white forehead,

And Maud, with her curls of gold;

And Will, so gay and sprightly,
So merry and full of glee,
And, more than all, the dear wife
Who bore my babes to me?

God guard and keep you all, Alice;
God guard and keep me, too;
For if only one were missing,
What would the other do?
Oh, when will the war be over,
And when shall I behold
Those whom I love so dearly,
Safe in the dear home-fold?

THE RESPONSE.

I HAVE put the children to bed, Harry,—
Rose and Willie and Maud;-
They have sung their hymns together,
And whispered their prayer to God.
Then Rose said, gently smiling,

"Come, Willie and Maud, now say, God bless the dear, sweet father,Father so far away!"

And such a glad trust arose, Harry,
In this sad heart of mine,
For I felt that God would keep you
Safe in His hand divine.

And I kissed their pure young foreheads,
And said, "He is over all!

He counteth the hairs of your heads, darlings,
And noteth the sparrow's fall."

Then I sung them to their sleep, Harry,
With hymns all trust and love,
And I knew that God was listening
From His gracious throne above.
And since that calm, sweet evening,
I have felt so happy, dear!
And so have the children, Harry,
They seem to know no fear.

They talk of your coming home, Harry,
As something sure to be;

I list to their childish pratings,
Nor care to check their glee.
For oh, 'tis a cause so noble,

And you so brave and true;
And God protects His own, Harry,
And surely will watch o'er you.

So keep a brave good heart, Harry!
God willing and He knows best-
We'll welcome you, safe and happy,
Back to the dear home-nest.

And Maud and Rose and Willie

Shall yet, with a moistened eye, Give thanks to the dear, good Father, While you stand tearful by.

ALL will remember the heroic fate of the noble ship Cumberland, and her gallant crew, in Hampton Roads. What an example to Americans, and what a spectacle to the world! The names of commander and sailor should ever be green in the memory of their countrymen.

THE CUMBERLAND.

ANONYMOUS.

MAGNIFICENT thy fate!

Once mistress of the seas;
No braver vessel ever flung
A pennon to the breeze;

No bark e'er died a death so grand;
Such heroes never vessel manned;
Your parting broadside broke the wave
That surged above your patriot grave;
Your flag, the gamest of the game,

Sank proudly with you-not in shame
But in its ancient glory;

The memory of its parting gleam
Will never fade while poets dream;
The echo of your dying gun
Will last till man his race has run,
Then live in angel story.

66

THE PICKET-GUARD.

"ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.

'Tis nothing-a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost-only one of the men,
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle."

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;
Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
Or the light of the watch-fires are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night-wind

Through the forest leaves softly is creeping; While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, Keep guard-for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed, Far away in the cot on the mountain.

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His musket falls slack, his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep,For their mother, may Heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips,-when low, murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.

Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place,
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree-
The footstep is lagging and weary;

Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.

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