[Lines found under the pillow of a soldier who was lying dead in a hospital near Port Royal, South Carolina.]

I lay me down to sleep
With little thought or care
Whether my waking find
Me here or there:

A weary, aching head,
That only seeks to rest
Unquestioning upon
Thy faithful breast.

My good right hand forgets
Its cunning now :
To march the weary march
I know not how.

I am not eager, bold, or strong,
All that is past;
I'm ready not to do,
At last, at last.

My half-day's work is done,
And this is all my part,
I give my patient God
A patient heart:

And grasp His banner still,
Though all its blue be dim :
These stripes, no less than stars,
Lead after Him.