Eliza Howland to Joe, Howland, her husband.
Wilson Small, June —.
This morning I have your Sunday note with the charming little poem. Who wrote it? Be sure and tell me. It is a poem, and though entirely undeserved, I value it very much indeed.
[Poem by a Lieutenant of the 16th N. Y., dedicated to Eliza Woolsey Howland]
To Mrs. Joseph Howland.
From old Saint Paul till now,
Of honorable women not a few
Have quit their golden ease, in love to do
The saintly works that Christ-like hearts pursue.
Such an one art thou, God’s fair apostle,
Bearing His love in war’s horrific train;
Thy blessed feet follow its ghastly pain
And misery and death, without disdain.
To one borne from the sullen battle’s roar,
Dearer the greeting of thy gentle eyes,
When he aweary, torn and bleeding lies,
Than all the glory that the victors prize.
When peace shall come, and homes shall smile again,
Ten thousand soldier hearts, in Northern climes,
Shall tell their little children, with their rhymes,
Of the sweet saint who blessed the old war times.
