The Democratic Press

[From the American Messenger.]

For a Ladies Soldiers' Aid Society.

We do not come with the sound of the drum
And fife to the battle-field.
Nor do we stand in the halls of our land,
For the wounded and sick to plead;
But a company gathers we—
Their sisters, have met to-day
And though small our sickle, or the sufferers' need
We will use the lance we may.

'Tis a peaceful spear which we brandish here
Befitting a woman's hand
For its only strife is with want, so rife
In our loved, war-stricken land.
It has an eye for those who lie
On the soldier's couch of pain
And its point so small is yet keen withal,
Nor will they its work disdain.

To that blessed land where those conquerors stand
Who have fought with self and sin,
And have gained the palm, through the blood of the Lamb,
May each of us enter in;
And may we and they whom we aid to day
Though on earth we ne'er may meet,
For aye in our home, where no sin can come,
Dwell in Jesus' presence sweet.