Under date of July 26, she wrote again: "At last it is over and our dear little one is gone from us. He is now among the blessed. My Charley--my beautiful, loving, gladsome baby, so loving, so sweet, so full of life, and hope and strength--now lies shrouded, pale and cold, in the room below.... I write as though there were no sorrow like my sorrow, yet there has been in this city, as in the land of Egypt, scarce a house without its dead. This heart-break, this anguish, has been everywhere, and when it will end God alone knows." The succeeding years brought other tragedies to the sorely tried family. In 1857 the eldest son, Henry, pride of his mother's heart, was drowned at the close of his freshman year at Dartmouth College. Then came the Civil War with its bloody battles. At Gettysburg a third son, Fred, was wounded in the head by a piece of shrapnel. Although it did not prove fatal, his mental faculties were permanently impaired. Through all these afflictions the marvelous faith of Mrs. Stowe remained firm and unshaken. Many years afterwards, in looking back upon these bitter experiences, she wrote: "I thank God there is one thing running through all of them from the time I was thirteen years old, and that is the intense unwavering sense of Christ's educating, guiding presence and care." It was in the midst of these dark tragedies that Mrs. Stowe wrote a hymn entitled "The Secret." When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down, beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea. So to the heart that knows Thy love, O Purest! There is a temple sacred evermore, And all the babble of life's angry voices Dies in hushed stillness at its sacred door. Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in Thee! O Rest of rests! O Peace serene, eternal! Thou ever livest, and Thou changest never; And in the secret of Thy presence dwelleth Fulness of joy, forever and forever.