Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7.
Frank Moore, Ed.

“In a recent battle fell a secession colonel, the last remaining son of his mother, and she a widow. That mother had sold eleven children of an old slave mother, her servant; that servant went to her and said: ‘Missus, we're even now; you sold all my children; de Lord took all yours; not one left to bury either of us; now I forgive you.’ ”

A Southern widow knelt beside the bier
Of her lifeless son,
They had brought him back from the battle-field,
The field that he died upon;
And of all her children, this dead boy
Was the last remaining one.

Oh! lonely through that silent house
The wide, deserted halls;
Now never a sound of dancing feet
Across their pavement falls--
Nor the mother's voice through the summer air,
After her children calls.

One after one, from her home they went,
One after one, to the grave,
And their father was laid by the village kirk
Where the solemn cedars wave,
And this last one of her household band,
How she had hoped to save!

But that hope died out on the fatal day,
So sorrowful and black,
When strangers brought unto her door
That only darling back--
Not as he went, so strong and brave
And full of life, alack!

Oh! sad it was to hear her mourn
In that wide, lonely home;
Not a ray of comfort or of hope
To radiate the gloom,
Not a kindred — step beside her own,
To follow to the tomb.

One came to her, but not of kin,
Only an aged slave,
And spoke, as she never spoke before--
Perhaps grief made her brave;
The swelling tide of a mighty grief
Impulsive accents gave.

[18] “Missus, you mourn, for your last boy
Will never come back more.
You took my children, one by one,
From the little cabin-door;
De Lord took yours, now I forgive--
I never could before.”

“I pity you in de lonesome house,
For I knows how;
Not one left to bury either of us,
We're even now
But de good Lord helps sufferina hearts
Dat to him bow.”