The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1864-09-07
THE HEART OF THE WAR.
BY J. G. HOLLAND.

Peace in the clover-scehted air,
And stars within the dome,
And underneath, In dim repose,
A plain, New-England home.
Within, q murmur Of low tones
And sighs from hearts oppressed,
Merging in prayer, at last, that brings
The balm of silent rest
I've closed hard days work, Marty
The evening chores are done;
And you are weary with the house,
And with the little one.
But he is sleeping sV eetly now,
With all our pretty brood;
So come and sit upon my knee,
And it will do me good.
Oh, Marty must tell you all
The trouble in my heart,
And you must do the best you can
To take and bear your part.
You've seen the shadow on my facej
You've felt it day and night;
For it has chilled our little home,
And banished all its light.
| did not mean it should be SO,
And yet might have known
That hearts that live as close as OURS
Can never keep their own.
And we're fallen on evil times
And do whate'er may,
NY heart grows sad about the war
And sadder every day.
think about it when | work,
And when try to rest,
And never more than when your head
Is pillowed on my breast;
For when / see the camp-fres blaze,
And sleeping men around,
Who turn their faces towards their homes
And dream upon the ground.
| think ABOUT the dear, brave boys,
Ny mates in otaer years,
Who pine for home and those they love,
Till am choked with tears.
With shouts and cheers they marched ava.
On glery's shirlng track,
But, ah how long, he% long they stay!
How few Of tFem o9ne backl
one sleeps beside the Tennessee,
And one beside the James,
And one fought on gallant ship
And perished in its flames.
And some, strack down by fell disease,
Are breathing outThetr gife;
And others, MANNED by cruel WOUNDS,
Have left the deadly strife.
All, Marty Marty ! only think
OF all the boys have done
And suffered in this weary war;
Brave heroes, every one
Oh often, often in the night,
| hear their voices call
q Come on and help Us. Is Il right
That s0s should bear II d1f'
And when kneei and try to pray,
My thoughts are never free,
But cling to those who toll and fght
And de for you and me.
And when pray for victory
1t seems almost sin
To fold my hands and ask for what
viii not help to win.
oh do not cling to me and cry,
For it will break my heart,
Ira sure you'd rather have me die
Than not to hear my part.
You think that some should stay at home
To care for those away
Bpt still Pm helpless to decide
If 1 Should GO or stay.
For, Marty, all the soldiers love,
And ell are loved again;
And en-, loved, ana love, perhaps,
No more than other men.
I cannot teE-I do not know
Which way my duty lies,
Or where the Lord would have re suiId
Ny fire Of sacrifice,
feel know am not mean;
And, though | seem to boast,
Pm sure that would give my life
To these who need it most,
Perhaps the Spirit viii reveal
That which is fair and right;
So, Marty, let US humbIy kneel
And pray to Heaven for light.
Peace in the clover-scented aif,
And stars within the DOME
And underneath, in dim repose,
A plain New England home.
Without, a widow in her weeds,
From whom all JOY is flown,
Who kueelS among her sleeping bsses,
And weeps and prays alone
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