Murmur a requiem sad and low.
Out to the barren, bleak hillside
Rough hands bear it with scorn and jest.
Cradled once in a mother's arms--
Once by a mother's fond lips pressed--
Under the clods of a new-made grave;
A rough-hewn board at the foot and head,
Where never a flower of love shall wave;
Left with the city's nameless dead--
Left with her fate unwept, untold--
Out in the cold.


* * * * *



TO JENNIE.

Farewell my darling, fare thee well,
Life hence has only dearth;
With thee it were too sweet a dream--
Too much Heaven, for earth.
Thou dost not know the depth of pain
This parting gives to me,
Nor how, as time drags weary on,
My soul will sigh for thee.

Each loved one that thou leavest here,
Some other love may wear,