When my family and I heard this letter read on Ken Burns’ documentary, The Civil War, there was not a dry eye among us. The letter’s author, Sullivan Ballou, sounds like an 18th century author of the Song of Songs, or an American, Civil-War era Rumi. I cannot read through it without welling up with emotion. So on this war-time Memorial Day, from Annapolis, a town that trains men, and now women, for war, I post the words Ballou wrote to his wife just before his violent death:

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And 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 and 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 many 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 . . .