From the Tue., Feb. 23, 1864 issue
When peace, with her banners that float in the sun,
Proclaims that the struggle is over and won,
How pure is the happiness filling the breast,
Of the soldier who returns to his homestead for rest;
How stately the welcome the nation delights,
To offer the heroes of numberless fights,
And the Leader who guided her armies to fame,
Till his glory and hers are but one and the same,
But the heart's adoration shall still be for those.
Who know naught of the triumph that blesses the close;
Who from the dark battle-field never returned,
To hear the warm praises so gallantly earned;
To see the proud tears on the delicate cheek,
While loving lips quiver that welcomes would speak.
Ah, desolate hearthstones! where no more shall stand.
The young and the brave who have rescued their land.
For the living the plaudits! for them the heart thrill
Of a love death has hallowed, and never can chill.