but no man replied.
They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed,
And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.

"Ephraim Deane!" then a soldier spoke;
"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said;
"Where our ensign was shot, I left him dead,
Just after the enemy wavered and broke.

"Close by the roadside his body lies;
I paused a moment and gave him a drink,
He murmured his mother's name I think,
And Death came with it and closed his eyes."

'Twas a victory; yes, but it cost us dear--
For that company's roll when called that night,
Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered "Here!"

_N.G. Shepherd._

A Prayer for a Little Home

God send us a little home
To come back to when we roam--
Low walls and fluted tiles,
Wide windows, a view for miles;
Red firelight and deep chairs;
Small white beds upstairs;
Great talk in little nooks;
Dim colors, rows of books;
One picture on each wall;
Not many things at all.
God send us a little ground--
Tall trees standing round,
Homely flowers in brown sod,
Overhead, Thy stars, O God!
God bless, when winds blow,
Our home and all we know.

_London "Spectator."_

I Have Drank My Last Glass

No, comrades, I thank you--not any for me;
My last chain is riven--henceforward I'm free!
I will go to my home and my children to-night
With no fumes of liquor their spirits to blight;
And, with tears in my eyes, I will beg my poor wife
To forgive me the wreck I have made of her life.
_I have never refused you before?_ Let that pass,
For I've drank my last glass, boys,
I have drank my last glass.

Just look at me now, boys, in rags and disgrace,
With my bleared, haggard eyes, and my red, bloated face;
Mark my faltering step and my weak, palsied hand,
And the mark on my brow that is worse than Cain's brand;
See my crownless old hat, and my elbows and knees,
Alike, warmed by the sun, or chilled by the breeze.
Why, even the children will hoot as I pass;--
But I've drank my last glass, boys,
I have drank my last glass.

You would hardly believe, boys, to look at me now
That a mother's soft hand was pressed on my brow--
When she kissed me, and blessed me, her darling, her pride,
Ere she lay down to rest by my dead father's side;
But with love in her eyes, she looked up to the sky
Bidding me meet her there and whispered "Good-bye."
And I'll do it, God helping! Your _smile_ I let pass,
Fo