Lines Written upon the Death of James Buell by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Something is missing from the balmy spring. / There is no perfume in its gentle breath; / And there are sobs in songs the wild birds sing, / And all the bees chant of the grave and death. / Something is missing from the earth. One morn / The angels called a new name on the roll; / A spirit soldier to their ranks was borne, / And all Christ's army welcomed the pure young soul. / He died. Two little words, but only God / Can understand the awful depths of woe / They hold for those who pass beneath the rod, / Praying for strength, from Him who aimed the blow. / He died. The soldier who fought long and well, / Who walked with Death upon the battle-field, / Among the bellowing guns -- the shrieking shell -- / In poison prison dens -- and would not yield.

A six month three times told, he languished there, / And yet he lived; oh, young heart, strong and brave! / Thank God, who heard the oft repeated prayer; / Thank God, he does not fill a Southern grave; / That when he died, the loved ones gathered round, / And eased the anguish of those last, sad hours. / That gentle hands can keep the precious mound / All green with mosses, and abloom with flowers.