My heart is weary with waiting,
And sick of the long delay,--
But I know his country needs him,
And I could not bid him stay.

I remember how his face flushed,
And how his color came,
When the flash from the guns of Sumter
Lit the whole land with flame,
And darkened our country's banner
With the crimson hue of shame.

"Mother," he said, then faltered,--
I felt his mute appeal;
I paused-- if you are a mother,
You know what mothers feel,
When called to yield their dear ones
To the cruel bullet and steel.

My heart stood still for a moment,
Struck with a mighty woe;
A faint as of death came o'er me,
I am a mother, you know,
But I sternly checked my weakness,
And firmly bade him "Go."

Wherever the fight is fiercest
I know that my boy will be;
Wherever the need is sorest
Of the stout arms of the free.