BY G. W. VAN WEIGHS.

Comrade, may the God of heaven ease the maddening pain

That has swept across your bosom since your son was slain;

Think not of him as a mortal mouldering into dust;—

God, too, loved him and, my comrade, He betrays no trust.

You shall see him when the morning breaks above the night of death,

And your parting, O, my comrade, will but seem a passing breath.

Well I know the awful pressure grief exerts upon the soul,

But I know it will but whiten what it can't control.

You have met on field of battle many a gallant foe,

And, with patriotism burning, gave them blow for blow,

You have fought till every rebel bent the suppliant knee,

And the land you loved and cherished once again was free.

You despise no gallant fellow who once wore the blue

When it cost both blood and treasure if a man was true.

You forgive the trivial errors of that noble band,

And you meet a loyal comrade with extended hand.

You have friends in every station where your worth is known;

You have showered acts of kindness that but few have known.

Since your advent in this prison you have daily won

Hearts that ever will remember acts of kindness nobly done.

Comrade, time is passing swiftly, and Jehovah his reveille

Soon will sound upon the hilltops of a vast eternity.

May we gather with our comrades on that ever beautiful shore

And, like conquering heroes, listen to Heaven's plaudits ever more.