Litchfield enquirer., 1864-08-18
The Heart of the War.
BY J. G. HOLLAND.


 And stars within the dome; And underneath, in dim repose,
 A plain, New England home. Within, aAmurmur of low tones
 And signs from hearts oppressed, Merging in prayer, at last, that brings The balm of silent rest. I've closed a hard days work, Mart, = The evening chores are done; And you are weary with the house, And with the little one But he is sleeping sweetly now,
 With all our pretty brood; So come and sit upon nay knee, And it will do me good. Oh, Marty! Imust 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 face, You've felt it day and night; For it has filled our little home,
 And banished all ies 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 But we are fallen on evil tinses, And, do whate CT I may, My heart grows sad about the war, And sadder every day. I think about it when I work, And when try to rest, .. And never more than when your head Is pillowed on my breast; For then I see the camp fires blaze, And sleeping men around, Who turn their faces toward their homes, And dram upon the ground. " think about the dear, brave boys, My mates in other years, Who pine for home and those they love, Till 1 am ehoked with tears. With shouts and cheers they march d away On glory's shining track, But, ah! how long, how long they stay How few of them come backl One sleeps beside the Tennessee, And one beside the James, And enc fought on a gallant ship, And perished in it's flames And some, struck down by fell disease, Are breathing out their life ... And others, maimcd by cruel wounds, Have left the deadly strife. An, 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 "Come on and hels us! Is it right
 7Aat sce should bear it aU2" And when kneel and try to pray, ' My thoughts are never free, But cling to those who toll and fight, And die tor you and me. And when l pray for victory,
 It seems almost a sin To fold my hands and ask for what will not help to win. Oh do not cling to me and cry, For it will break my heart; I'm sure you'd rather have me die Than not to bear my part: You think that some should stay at hom, To care for those away; But still Pm helpless to decide If l should go or stay. For, Marty, all the soldiers love. ..-s' And all are loved again; And 1 am loved, and love. perhaps,
 No more than other men. frH I cannot te1l-I do not know
 Which way my duty lies, Or where the Lord would have me build My fire of sacrifice. feel--I know-I am not mean ,.. And though 1 seem to boast, Pm sure that 1 would give my life
 To those who need il most .... Perhaps the Spirit will reveal That which is fair and right; So, Marty, let us humbly kneel .istsr. And pray to Heaven for light. Peace in the clover-scented air,
 And stars within the dome, And underneath, in dim repose,
 A plain, New England home. Within, a widow in her weeds, 't From whom all joy is flown, %@1' Who kneels among her sleeping babes, And weeps and prays alone.