There was the shape of the hand on the page, with the small, chubby fingers outspread. "Marthy Virginia's hand, for her pa,"--so the words on the little palm said. Never a wink slept the colonel that night, for the vengeance so blindly fulfilled; Never again woke the old battle-glow when the bullets their death-note shrilled. Long ago ended the struggle, in union of brotherhood happily stilled; Yet from that field of Antietam, in warning and token of love's command, See! there is lifted the hand of a baby--Marthy Virginia's hand! GETTYSBURG: A BATTLE ODE I Victors, living, with laureled brow, And you that sleep beneath the sward! Your song was poured from cannon throats: It rang in deep-tongued bugle-notes: Your triumph came; you won your crown, The grandeur of a world's renown. But, in our later lays, Full freighted with your praise, Fair memory harbors those whose lives, laid down In gallant faith and generous heat, Gained only sharp defeat. All are at peace, who once so fiercely warred: Brother and brother, now, we chant a common chord. II For, if we say God wills, Shall we then idly deny Him Care of each host in the fight? His thunder was here in the hills When the guns were loud in July; And the flash of the musketry's light Was sped by a ray from God's eye. In its good and its evil the scheme Was framed with omnipotent hand, Though the battle of men was a dream That they could but half understand. Can the purpose of God pass by him? Nay; it was sure, and was wrought Under inscrutable powers: Bravely the two armies fought And left the land, that was greater than they, still theirs and ours! III