The purple of evening is ready to fall;
The gladness of daylight is gone, and the gloom
Of something like sadness is over the room.
Right bravely all day, with a smile on her brow,
Has Alice been true to her duty,--but now
Her tasks are all ended,--naught inside or out,
For the thoughtfullest love to be busy about;
The knapsack well furnished, the canteen all bright,
The soldier's grey dress and his gauntlets in sight,
The blanket tight strapped, and the haversack stored,
And lying beside them, the cap and the sword;
No last, little office,--no further commands,--
No service to steady the tremulous hands;
All wife-work,--the sweet work that busied her so,
Is finished:--the dear one is ready to go.

Not a sob has escaped her all day,--not a moan;
But now the tide rushes,--for she is alone.
On the fresh, shining knapsack she pillows her head,
And weeps as a mourner might weep for the dead.
She heeds not the three-year old baby at play,
As donning the cap, on the carpet he lay;
Till she feels on her forehead, his fingers' soft tips,
And on her shut eyelids, the touch of his lips.

"Mamma is _so_ sorry!--Mamma is _so_ sad!
But Archie can make her look up and be glad:
I've been praying to God, as you told me to do,
That Papa may come back when the battle is thro':--
He says when we pray, that our prayers shall be heard;