And thus one soul, that never swerved
From duty, fills a land with light;
And countless arms are nerved for fight
By one strong arm that death unnerved.

So, best

since so, the largest good

Results-nor need we sum the cost,
For lives so lost are never lost
To freedom saved by martyr-blood.

For him henceforth his country claims
The ground as holy where he sleeps,
And, like a loving mother, keeps
His name among her dearest names.

And when Love bids his monument
Lift its pure column to the air,
No fitter legend can it bear
Than his brave words: "I AM CONTENT!"

"Content, whatever fate be mine-A sacred duty bids me go,

And though the issue none can know,

I hear and heed the voice divine.

"Content-since confident that He

To whom the sparrow's fall is known, Will have some purpose of his own Even in the fate of one like me."*

O golden words! O faith sublime!
O spirit breathing holy breath!
For such an one there is no death,
But crescent potencies through time!

And still where loyal arms roll back

The crimson tide of traitorous war, His memory, like a beacon-star, Shall shine above the battle's rack

A flame, the patriot's heart to cheer,
And give new temper to his sword-
A fire, to blast the rebel horde
And melt their courage into fear.

*In the last letter addressed to his parents, penned but a few hours previous to his assassination, Col. Ellsworth says: "Whatever may happen, cherish the consolation that I was engaged in the performance of a sacred duty; and to-night, thinking over the probabilities of the morrow and the occurrences of the past, I am perfectly content to accept whatever my fortune may be, confident that he who noteth even the fall of a sparrow will have some purpose even in the fate of one like me."

And when-Rebellion's power subdued-
Shall dawn for us a better day,

When peace again resumes her sway
And links the bands of brotherhood-

From North to South, from East to West,
His name shall be a household word,
Revered and loved wherever heard,
And treasured with our worthiest.

So, for his land, the good he meant,
Won in the triumph of the right,

His spirit, starred with heaven's own light, Once more shall say: "I AM CONTENT!"

H

PROMOTED.*

USHED be each sorrowing murmur,
And let no hot tear be shed,

As in slow march, with drooping standards,
Ye bear back the gallant dead.

*Colonel E. E. Ellsworth fell May twenty-fourth, 1861.

Dead! dead! with a death so royal

That our full hearts dare not weep-
Gently lay the true and knightly
To his holy, happy sleep.

It is well our sad blood-offering
Should be so pure a breast,

That the coward's treacherous bullet
Should find this stainless crest.

For among hero saints and martyrs
Now to claim him bending down,
There is none bears a soul more loyal,
None who wears a brighter crown.

Blessed they among the children
Whom dear mother-land has nurst,
Whose joyous blood beneath her banner
Gushes fullest, freest, first.

Wrap the flag he loved about him,
Beside him place his maiden blade,

Fold the cold hands prayerfully
Above the heart in stillness laid.

Happy hero! on the field promoted

From colonel's tent to patriot's grave;

Bear to his rest the youthful martyr,
Loved of the land he died to save.

New-York, May 24, 1861.

Rurus K. PHELPS.

THE DEATH OF ELLSWORTH.

A STAR has

gone

from the firmament,

A sword from the altar ruddy;

There is silence of death in his fleecy tent
And the banner is draped and bloody.

He fell alone, when the town was won;
And the squadrons that breathless found him,
While over the hills broke the early sun,
Saw the flag of the rebels around him.

In the flush of pride, when the blood was high, And the glory of youth upon him,

Still lingered a light in his glassy eye,

And a smile when the death had won him.

How dabbled the skeins of his raven hair!
The broad, high brow, how pallid !