The Two Wives

The colonel rode by his picket-line   In the pleasant morning sun, That glanced from him far off to shine   On the crouching rebel picket’s gun. From his command the captain strode   Out with a grave salute, And talked with the colonel as he rode:—   The picket levelled his piece to shoot. The colonel rode and the captain walked,—   The arm of the picket tired; Their faces almost touched as they talked,   And, swerved from his aim, the picket fired. The captain fell at the horse’s feet,   Wounded and hurt to death, Calling upon a name that was sweet   As God is good, with his dying breath. And the colonel that leaped from his horse and knelt   To close the eyes so dim, A high remorse for God’s mercy felt,   Knowing the shot was meant for him. And he whispered, prayer-like, under his breath,   The name of his own young wife: For Love, that had made his friend’s peace with Death,   Alone could make his with life.