(Of these
experiences more hereafter.)
Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Gamble, myself, and one or two others were the
only Episcopalians among the ladies of the Post, but the services were
attended by soldiers, both officers and privates. Mrs. Gamble, of
course, led the choir. We could always find bassos and tenors. I sang
alto. The music was really good. The death of Bishop Polk was a great
grief to everybody, especially to the faithful few among us who
revered him as a minister of The Church. Even while saying to
ourselves and to each other "God knows best," we could not at once
stifle the bitterness of grief, for it seemed as if a mighty bulwark
had been swept away. I had known Bishop Polk as a faithful and loving
shepherd of souls, feeding his flock in green pastures, tenderly
leading the weary and grief-stricken ones beside the waters of
comfort. But when the peaceful fold was invaded, when threatening
howls were arising on every side,--casting aside for a time the garb
of a shepherd, he sallied forth, using valorously his trusty sword,
opposing to the advance of the foe his own faithful breast, never
faltering until slain by the horrid fangs which greedily fastened
themselves deep in his heart.
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