THE COSSACK MOTHER

My little one will die to-night (Then break, my heart, oh, break!); But ’twill not be a lonely flight Her tender soul shall take. For there, where smoky clouds are spread, That blot the sunset sky, Are many dying, many dead, And others yet to die. My child loved soldiers so! And they, Whene’er they passed this door, Would toss her in their arms, in play, And laugh when she cried, “More!” So, when she passes hence to-night, They, too,—the brave, the strong, As up they climb the heavenly height, Will bear her soul along! With spirit lances shining clear, They reach God’s citadel:— My little one will have no fear, With friends she loves so well.