The Hillsborough Recorder

From the Winchester Bulletix

MY BROTHER.

Dearest brother, let me greet thee
With a feeble song to-day,
Telling of the deep affection
Binding us fraternally.
In the pulse that warms this bosom,
In this throb that swells my breast,
Mingles there my fondest wishes
For a brother's peace and rest.
We are distant from our kindred.
Mother, sisters, are not here,
No sweet notes, we long were used to,
Breaks upon the eager ear.
Far away, toward the sunset,
Where the evening sinks away,
They are bowing round their altars,
And their prayers go up to-day.
In the calm and quiet sunshine,
Through the vigil of the night,
In the hour of war and danger.
Prayers attend us "In the Fight."
Yes, when in the busy camp life,
In the office or away-
Guardian angels are invoked
Not to let us go astray.
Such the ties, are these which bind us
With the triple cords of love,
Such the joy that memory brings us,
When away from them we rove.
But of all to know, 'tis sweetest
But to feel we are not alone,
God, the Shepherd, is with "loved ones,"
He is watching o'er our home.
And my brother, though the war cloud
Blackens all the sky around,
We can look, through all its darkness,
Where the "Son of day" is found.
O that he who led the armies
Of his people, once of old,
Would exalt our struggling banners,
And his mighty strength unfold;
That the God who rules the heavens,
Numbering worlds one from another,
Would he guide our broken family,
And protect my only brother. Kenner H.
In the Field, 1861.