A Sodiers Tear

A Soldier's Tear

My Very Dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move

in a few days--perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not

be able to write again, I feel impelled to
write a few lines that may fall under your eye when

I shall be no more.

I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the

cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does

not halt, or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization

now leans on the triumph of the Government, and

how great a debt we owe to those who went on before us
through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution, And I am willing-- perfectly willing-- to lay down my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that dept.

Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break;

and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong

wind and bears me unresistibly with all these
chains to the battle field.

The memories of the blissful moments I have

spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel

most gratified to God and you that I have enjoyed

them so long. And how hard it is for me to give them

up and burn to ashes the

hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might

still have lived and loved together, and seen

our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around
us. I have, I know, but few small claims upon Divine

Providence, but something whispers to me--perhaps

it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar,
that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not

my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and

when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it

will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults,
and the pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and

foolish I have often times been! How gladly would

I wash out with my tears every little
spot upon your happiness...

But, O Sarah, if the dead can come back to this earth

and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be

near you: in the gladdest days and the darkest

nights...always, always, and if there be a soft breeze

upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air

fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing

by. Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I
am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

Major Sullivan Ballou's letter to his wife Sarah seven
days before being killed at the first battle of Bull Run.

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