It is just a year to-day Since he bade me a gay good-by, To march where banners float, And the deadly missiles fly. As I marked his martial step I felt my color rise With all a mother's pride, And my heart was in my eyes. There's a little room close by, Where I often used to creep In the hush of the summer night To watch my boy asleep. But he who used to rest Beneath the spread so white Is far away from me now,-- Oh, where is my boy to-night? Perchance in the gathering night, With slow and weary feet, By the light of Southern stars, He paces his lonely beat. Does he think of the mother's heart That will never cease to yearn, As only a mother's can, For her absent boy's return? Oh, where is my boy to-night? I cannot answer where, But I know, wherever he is, He is under our Father's care. May He guard, and guide, and bless My boy, wherever he be, And bring him back at length To bless and to comfort me. May God bless all our boys By the camp-fire's ruddy glow, Or when in the deadly fight They front the embattled foe; And comfort each mother's heart, As she sits in the fading light, And ponders with anxious heart-- Oh, where is my boy to-night? A SOLDIER'S VALENTINE. Just from the sentry's tramp (I must take it again at ten), I have laid my musket down, And seized instead my pen; For, pacing my lonely round In the chilly twilight gray, The thought, dear Mary, came, That this is St. Valentine's Day. And with the thought there came A glimpse of the happy time When a school-boy's first attempt I sent you, in borrowed rhyme, On a gilt-edged sheet, embossed With many a quaint design, And signed, in school-boy hand, "Your loving Valentine." The years have come and gone,-- Have flown, I know not where,-- And the school-boy's merry face Is grave with manhood's care; But the heart of the man still beats At the well-remembered name, And on this St. Valentine's Day His choice is still the same. There was a time--ah, well! Think not that I repine When I dreamed this happy day Would smile on you as mine; But I heard my country's call; I knew her need was sore. Thank God, no selfish thought Withheld me from the war. But when the dear old flag Shall float in its ancient pride, When the twain shall be made one, And feuds no more divide,-- I will lay my musket down, My martial garb resign, And turn my joyous feet Toward home and Valentine. LAST WORDS.