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Poem	[To the memory of Lieut. Wm. W. Wardell, of the First Massachusetts Cavalry, killed May 28, 1864.] Above his head the cypress waves Its dark green drooping leaves; The sunlight through its branches wide Where bright birds linger side by side A golden net-work weaves. Within the church-yard's silent gloom He lies in quiet rest; And never more to cold, pale brow, Or proud lips mute with silence now Will loving lips be pressed. Perhaps even now in death's dark dream He sees the deadly strife; Where brothers fought with blinded eyes, Forgetting all the tender ties That bound them life to life. Ah! nobly there he proudly rode With honest, warm, true heart; And shrank not from the carnage red, But bravely thee, among the dead, He took a soldier's part. Yet soon his hands fell helplessly, Low at his trembling side; For on his brow the death drops rose, While in his heart the life-blood froze And died his young life's pride. The dark brown eyes, whose loving glance Gave happiness to all, Have closed their weary lids for aye Beneath the sunset of life's day, Where dark'ning shadows fall. Oh, weary years that still creep on Adown the sands of Time, Give back the loving tones of yore, That haunt us here forever more As echoing church bell's chime. And yet it cannot, cannot be That hearts must ever grieve; Above his head the shadows fall, Yet still the sunbeams shine through all And mystic splendors weave. And thus upon the grieving heart That ever weeps for him, The dark clouds fall, yet God's sweet light Of faith still onward takes its flight, Through shadows vast and grim. Oh! faint heart, with thy clinging grief, Look upward to the sky; For there, beyond the weary strife, Where angels ever guard thy life, There's One who hears thy cry. Within the "City of the Dead" He only lies asleep; And soon his hand will clasp once more Thine own as oft he did of your, With love's pure feeling deep.
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