Yesterday, I located a poem, which was written by Elisha Peter Couch who was the father of my Grandmother Mary Cordilia Couch Glover. I typed his faded words, which he wrote during the Civil War. I suspect that many times young people leave for war with hopeful hearts. Reality brings such sorrow.
LAND OF MY BIRTH Farewell to the home of my childhood, Farewell to my cottage and vine. I go to the land of the stranger, Where pleasure alone will be mine. When life’s fleeting journey is over, And earth again mingles with earth, I can rest in the land of the Stranger, As well as in that of my birth. Yes, these were my feelings at parting, But absence soon altered their tone, The cold hand of sickness came o’re me, And I wept o’re my sorrows alone. No friend came around me to cheer me, No parent to soften my grief, Nor brother, nor sister were near me, And strangers could give no relief. Tis true that it matters but little, Tho’ living the thought makes one pine, Whatever befalls the poor relic, When the Spirit has flown from the Shrine, But, oh! When life’s journey is over, And earth again mingles with earth, Lamented or not, still my wish is To rest in the land of my birth. E.P Couch