Something is missing from the balmy spring;
There is no perfume in its gentle breath;
And there are sobs in songs the wild birds sing,
And all the bees chant of the grave and death--
Something is missing from the earth. One morn
The angels called a new name on the roll;
A spirit soldier to their ranks was borne,
And all Christ's army welcomed the pure young soul.
He died. Two little words, but only God
Can understand the awful depths of woe
They hold for those who pass beneath the rod,
Praying for strength, from Him who aimed the blow.
He died. The soldier who fought long and well,
Who walked with Death upon the battle-field,
Among the bellowing guns--the shrieking shell--
In poison prison dens--and would not yield.
A six month three times told, he languished there,
And yet he lived; oh, young heart, strong and brave!
Thank God, who heard the oft repeated prayer;
Thank God, he does not fill a Southern grave;
That when he died, the loved ones gathered round,
And eased the anguish of those last, sad hours;
That gentle hands can keep the precious mound
All green with mosses, and abloom with flowers.
He was so young and fair; and life was sweet.
Christ give the mourners strength to drain the cup.
He went to make the Heavenly ranks complete.
God sent the angel Death, to bear him up
So young, and fair and brave; so loved by all;
The lisping child-life's veteran, bent and gray--
The eyes grew dim, and bitter tear-drops fall
Upon the mound where lies the soldier's clay.
Oh! it is sweet to feel that God knows best,
Who called in youth this brother, friend and son,
And sweet to lean upon the Saviour's breast,
And looking upward, say, "Thy will be done."
But something is missing from the balmy spring;
There is no perfume in its gentle breath,
And there are sobs in songs the wild birds sing,
And all the bees chant of the grave, and death.