THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.
I'm wounded, Effie, and they say I never can get well; 'Twas in the thickest of the fight that I got hurt and fell. It seems to me like ages, yet it's but a month to-day Since you promised that you'd wait for me though I were years away.
Do you remember —oh! how well it all comes back to me!-
Our sitting in the bright moonlight, under the maple-tree;
When first I said I loved you, and then told you we must part,
For not e'en you could keep me, when my country had my heart?
But I knew you did not wish it, as, your little hand in mine,
You did not try to stay me by any word or sign;
But trying to keep back the tears, although a few would fall,
You bade me trust in God, your God, whatever might befall.
But all my bright ambitious hopes forever now are fled, And the sunlight of to-morrow will fall upon me dead; There'll be one soldier less to fight, one less on earth to
love,
But there'll be another hand to strike the golden harps above.
I have a mother in the skies ; I wonder if she'll know The little baby that she left so many years ago.
But I'm weary, and I can not think: let this your comfort be,
Your love has been the brightest thing in all the world to me.
W. GOSHEN, Oct. 21, 1861.