His listening soul hears no echo of battle,
No pæan of triumph nor welcome of fame;
But down through the years comes a little one’s prattle,
And softly he murmurs her idolized name.
And it seems as if now at his heart she were clinging
As she clung in those dear, distant years to his knee;
He sees her fair face, and he hears her sweet singing—
And Nellie is coming from over the sea.
While each patriot’s hope stays the fullness of sorrow,
While our eyes are bedimmed and our voices are low,
He dreams of the daughter who comes with the morrow
Like an angel come back from the dear long ago.
Ah, what to him now is a nation’s emotion,
And what for our love or our grief careth he?
A swift-speeding ship is a-sail on the ocean,
And Nellie is coming from over the sea!
O daughter—my daughter! when Death stands before me
And beckons me off to that far misty shore,
Let me see your loved form bending tenderly o’er me,
And feel your dear kiss on my lips as of yore.
In the grace of your love all my anguish abating,
I’ll bear myself bravely and proudly as he,
And know the sweet peace that hallowed his waiting
When Nellie was coming from over the sea.