Dying In The Hospital

This poem was written by Ellen Murray, a co-founder of the Penn School on St. Helena Island in South Carolina. The poem was originally published in Our Daily Fare on June 13, 1864.

By Ellen Murray

It well may be," he said
"That wide though all my breezy North,
The buds of roses hasten forth,
The robins sing their sweetest tune
To welcome in the month of June;
But, redder than the reddest rose,
For me my country's banner glows.

"I am content," he said,
"My father reads the news to-night,
Saying, 'My child was in the fight.'
My mother spreads the evening cheer,
And murmurs, 'Were my boy but here!'
For me the fight its worst has done;
Strange hands, my mother, nurse thy son.

"'Tis the Fair day," he said,
"A stir in the crowded street,
Amid the trees the thousands meet;
A thought of those who bleed and die
Fills every heart, dims every eye;
For me, it is enough to know
Kind nurses past my bedside go.

"I am most blessed," he said,
"Some of our men, beneath the sun,
Die slowly on the field they won,
Some in the foemen's prison pine
Longing for Northern breeze and shine;
For me, my own true land has done
A mother's kindness for her son.

"And if I die," he said;
"There is no sweeter death to come
Than death for freedom, land and home;
No country for which heroes bled,
Loves more than ours its patriot dead,
And I am more over blest to be
One of that well-loved company.

"'Tis time to pray," he said,
"For all should pray when death is near,
And yet I do not feel a fear
To pray against; no wish, no will,
In God's sweet presence lying still,
I only pray for God's great might,
To help my country and her right."

St. Helena, S.C.