Was there ever message sweeter br Than that one from Malvern Hill, br From a grim old fellow-you remember? br Dying in the dark at Malvern Hill. br With his rough face turned a little, br On a heap of scarlet sand, br They found him, just within the thicket, br With a picture in his hand,- br br br With a stained and crumpled picture br Of a woman's aged face; br Yet there seemed to leap a wild entreaty, br Young and living-tender-from the face br When they flashed the lantern on it, br Gilding all the purple shade, br And stooped to raise him softly,- br 'That 's my mother, sir,' he said. br br br 'Tell her'-but he wandered, slipping br Into tangled words and cries,- br Something about Mac and Hooker, br Something dropping through the cries br About the kitten by the fire, br And mother's cranberry-pies; and there br The words fell, and an utter br Silence brooded in the air. br br br Just as he was drifting from them, br Out into the dark, alone, br (Poor old mother, waiting for your message, br Waiting with the kitten, all alone!) br Through the hush his voice broke,-'Tell her- br Thank you, Doctor-when you can, br Tell her that I kissed her picture, br And wished I 'd been a better man.' br br br Ah, I wonder if the red feet br Of departed battle-hours br May not leave for us their searching br Message from those distant hours.