"But, brother, what good would it do to refuse The comforts and blessings God gives us, or use Them quite with indifference, as much as to say, We care not how soon they are taken away! I am sure I would give my last blanket, and spread My pretty, blue cloak, at night, over my bed,-- (Mamma, you know, covers herself with her shawl, Since we've sent all our blankets,)--but, then, it's too small! Would Papa be less hungry or cold, do you think, If _we_ had too little to eat or to drink? So I mean to be busy,--I mean to be glad; Mamma says there's time enough yet to be sad; I'll work for the soldiers,--I'll pray, and I'll plan, And just be as happy as ever I can; I've made the grey shirt, and I've finished the socks:-- So come, let us help,--they are packing the box." How grateful the task is to Alice! her cares Are quite put aside, and her countenance wears A look of enjoyment as eager, as bright, As Santa Claus brings little dreamers to-night; For Douglass away in his camp, is to share The daintiest cates that her larder can spare. The turkey, well seasoned, and tenderly browned, Is flanked by the spiciest _a la mode_ "round;" The great "priestly ham," in its juiciest pride, Is there,--with the tenderest surloin beside; Neat bottles, suggestive of ketchups and wines, And condiments racy, of various kinds; And firm rolls of butter as yellow as gold, And patties and biscuit most rare to behold, And sauces that richest of odors betray,-- Are marshalled in most appetizing array. Then Beverly brings of his nuts a full store, And Archie has apples, a dozen or more; While Sophy, with gratified housewifery, makes Her present of spicy "Confederate cakes." And then in a snug little corner, there lies A pacquet will brighten the orphan boy's eyes; For Beverly claims it a pleasure to use His last cherish'd hoardings in buying him shoes. Sophy's socks too are there; and she catches afar-- "There's _somebody_ cares for me, Colonel Dunbar!" What subtlest of essences, sovereign to cheer-- What countless, uncatalogu'd tokens are here! What lavender'd memories, tenderly green, Lie hidden, these grosser of viands between! What food for the heart-life,--unreckon'd, untold-- What manna enclosed in its chalice of gold! What caskets of sweets that Love only unlocks,-- What mysteries Douglass will find in the box! VI. The lull of the Winter is over; and Spring Comes back, as delicious and buoyant a thing, As airy, and fairy, and lightsome, and bland, As if not a sorrow was dark'ning the land;-- So little has Nature of passion or part In the woes and the throes of humanity's heart.