Her heart it is preserves the flower Of sacrificial duty, Which, blown across the blackest hour, Transfigures it to beauty; Her hands that streak these solemn years With vivifying graces, And crown the foreheads of our fears With light from higher places. O wives and mothers, sanctified By holy consecrations, Turning our weariness aside With blessed ministrations! O maidens, in whose dewy eyes Perennial comforts glitter, Untangling War's dark mysteries And making sweet the bitter;-- In desolate paths, on dangerous posts, By places which, to-morrow, Shall be unto these bannered hosts Aceldemas of sorrow, We hear the sound of helping feet, We feel your soft caressings; And all our life starts up to greet Your lovingness with blessings! On cots of pain, on beds of woe, Where stricken heroes languish, Wan faces smile and sick hearts grow Triumphant over anguish; While souls that starve in lonely gloom Flush green with odorous praises, And all the lowly pallets bloom With Gratitude's white daisies. O lips that from our wounds have sucked The fever and the burning! O tender fingers that have plucked The madness from our mourning! O hearts that beat so loyal-true For soothing and for saving-- God send your own hopes back to you, Crowned with immortal having! Thank God!--O Love! whereby we know Beyond our little seeing, And feel serene compassions flow Around the ache of being;-- Lo! clear o'er all the pain and dread Of our most sore affliction, The shining wings of Peace are spread In brooding benediction! * * * * * We have been requested by the author of 'Hannah Thurston,' an article in our April number, to correct a typographical error (the omission of the word _all_) in said article. The mutilated sentence originally read: "I cannot think that marriage is essential to, or even best for, the happiness of _all_ women." ED. CON