This letter is framed in the cna building im in, written in 1862. Wow My dear cousin Vira, five minuted time with you and god only knows what those five minutes might be worth to the many doomed thousands sleeping around me. Its is the night before a battle. The enemy, Frediksburg and its mighty entrenchments lie before us, the river between - at tomorrows dawnour troops will assay to cross, and the guns of the enemy will sweep those frail bridges at every breath. The moon is shining through the soft haze with a brightness almost prophetic. For the last half hour I have stood alone in the awful stillness of its glimmering light gazing upon the strange sad scene around me striving to say, "Thy will Oh God be done." The camp fires blaze with unwanted brightness, the sentrys tread is still but quick - the acres of little shelter tents are dark and still as death, no wonder for us as I gazed sorrowfully upon them. I thought I could almost hear the slow flap of the grims messagers wings, as one by one he sought and selected his victims for the morning. Sleep weary one, sleep and rest for tomorrows toil. Oh! Sleep and visit in dreams once more the loved ones nestling at home. They may yet live to dream of you, cold lifeless and bloody, but his dream soldier is thy last., paint it brightly, dream it well. Oh northern mothers wives and sisters, all unconcious of the hour, would to Heaven that I could bear for you the concentrated wwow which is so soon to follow, would that Christ would teach my soul a prayer that would plead to the Father for grace sufficient for you, God pitty and strengthen you every one. Good night dear cousin and heaven grant you strength for you more peaceful and less terrible but not less weary days than mine. Yours In love, Clara barton.
Posted on: Tue, 17 Sep 2013 19:54:14 +0000