THRICE noble aim befitting hands so fair,
Befitting hearts so gentle and so true,
Cause that might claim an angel’s loving care
Now claims this pure and holy trust from you.

Ah, broken hearts no doubt have waited long
For the return of each one sleeping here,
Waited and prayed and heard Hope’s siren song,
Till wailing dirges reached each list’ning ear.

Perhaps, dear friends, for one who came not back
   You waited thus, prayed, wept, and watched; I
      have.
My brother perished on War’s blasting track,
   And sleeps now in a lonely, unknown grave.

Pale Sorrow, somewhat hushed, to-day arose,
And flitted slowly through fond Memory’s hall;
Again my soul bowed down beneath the throes
War gave when o’er the South he flung his pall.

Five dreary winters have their dirges sung
Above my knightly playmate brother’s grave;
Mayhap some stranger hand hath kindly flung
A chaplet o’er the mound of mine own brave.

If so, a sister’s heart would bless the hands,
E’en as the loved of these would bless you, friends,
And hope to clasp them in the starry lands,
Where peaceful, joyous union never ends.

This poem is from page 37 of a book titled ‘A SOUVERNIR OF THE TENNESSEE CENTENNIAL, POEMS’, by Annie Somers Gilchrist, Gospel Advocate Publishing Company, Nashville, Tennessee, dated 1897.