Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 May 1892 — TO OUR GLORIOUS DEAD [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

TO OUR GLORIOUS DEAD

AFREE AND GRATEFut PEOPLE PAYS HONOR. Decoration Day Awakens Fresh Memories es and Greater Gratitude to the Brave Patriots Who Gave Their Lives for Their Country—Their Graves, Honor to Heroes. The coming of another Decoration Day marks one more remove along the path of peace and prosperity from that conflict, the echoes of which grow less distinot and the memories of it more mellowed as the sands of time sift into the shadows of the softening past. The sorrow for our patriot dead is a sorrow we would not forget. Gladly as we would alter the aspects of that darksome picture of the fading years; much as we lament the fratricidal strife and its direful results, wo would not if we could be wholly divorced from the memory of it. That era in the nation’s existence serves as an awful, majestic background for the 3cene in -which the, arts of peace are painting the happier central figures of the present. In the war’s great grave was burled a nation’s error and humanity’s shame. The fetters of the slave wero hidden in that mound from the gentle bosom of which sprang the newer and grander life of the republic. The war is a story of the past the sequel of which is well-nigh told. Its fearful outlines have been hapily smoothed away until we may pensively meditate upon the lessons it taught and look upon its patriotic aspects with a feeling of pride akin to deepest and purest joy.

The nobility of a nation may bo marked by the love which survives the tomb of Its fallen defenders. Measured by that standard this grand republio is above and beyond all other lands. From the St. Lawrence to the Rio Grande, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, loving hands strew the beauties of nature above the graves of sleeping heroes and crown with shaplets of flowers the memory of its soldiers. The exercises of Decoration Day spread a shade of sorrow over the passing hours and quiet the voices of gayety and laughter, and yet they are more welcome than scenes of revelry or songs of pleasure. How sleep the brave who sink to rest, By all their country's wishes blest! When spring, with dewy fingers cold. Returns to deck their hallowed mold, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than fancy’s feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung: By forms unseen their dirge Is sung; There honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And freedom shall a while repair To dwell a weeping hermit there. The Long Dark Night of War. While the masses have no personal recollections of the war, its shock and anguish, all have been impressed by the lingering evidences of Its terribleness. The conflict was ended before the young men of to-day were born, and to them it Is a page in history. The sound of “the Bjkrlt-stirring drum” and the ear-pierc-ing fife does not send the blood tingling to the finger-tips as it does with the did soldiers to whom the war is an ever present reality. To the old volunteer it 3eems but yesterday that he heard the call to arms and hastened to the'front. All was hurry and excitement and there were so many new and interesting sights that he almost forgot the dreadful nature of the mission he had set out to fulfill. The march through strange lands, the stories of the camp, the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of war served as stimulants to the mind. How differently surrounded was the mother, the wife or the sweetheart at home, who with fearful, prayerful heart dreaded the coming of the news that might deprive her of life’s sunshine. Sad, long evenings were those spent by the hearthstone from which the father or sons were absent. What tidings might come with the morrow? What tidings; the morrow did so often bring! But whp of the survivors that suffered most would forego the sorrowful recollections ol those terrible days if by so doing they must forget the glad time when the -boys came marching home triumphant, bearing the dear old flag, rent and battle-scarred but a hundred times more glorious than when it went sway. How vividly all remembered the day when the men a thousand strong proudly marched away to die war. Mothers and wives and sisters and sweethearts had pressed the farewell kiss on the lip and cheek and brow. Words were spoken the music of which was a sweet sound In the ear even amid the din of battle. Little children were awed by the military trappings of the great body of colliers, and wondeHul what it all meant. Old men gave their parting blessings, the last good-bys were spoken, handkerchiefs fluttered a thousand fond farewells, and the boys were gone. And how strangely quiet were the homes they left. Over the doorways lingered a shadow, and a hope to be darkened or brightened by the uncertain fortunes of tfar. Long days and nights dragged by.

r - . v ... . The vernal springs and the golden autumns came and went, and the snows ol winter sifted their silver whiteness over new-made graves. Sometimes a soldiei boy would come home on a furlough and return with a hundred messages of love to those in the ranks. And how eager were his comrades to learn all he had seen or heard. It was like stealing a glimpse of home and friends to chat with one who had recently looked upon those dear old scenes. Hi! Harry Holly I Halt and tell A follow just a thing or two; You've had at furlough, been to see How all the folks In Jersey da It’s months ago since I was there— I. and a bullet from Fair Oaks; When you were home, old comrade, say. Did you see any of our folks? The Sunshine of Peace. But there came a happy time when the great army of soldiers were given an unlimited furlough, and though of the thousands of brave men who marched away only a scant hundred or two returned, the difference in numbers but emphasized the greatness of the victory won, and the imperishable glory of those who died in its achievement. There were happy reunions in the homes of the nation. From the pine-clad hills of New England to the shores of the Gulf and the Pacific there came a glad response to the tidings, “The war is over!" The clouds, dark and terrible while they remained, rolled away and let in the sunshine of freedom that shall brighten as the years pass. The men who died opposing each other at Shiloh and*Malvern Hill and Gettysburg, and were buried together as they fell, have been resolved into the common dust from which they came. The blue coat and the gray have mingled in the mold from

which to-day spring blossoms that sweetly oover the scars of strife, and with grateful hearts we join with nature in the gracious work. Cover them over with beautiful flowers, Deck them over with garlands, those brothers of ours. Lying so silent by night and by day. Bleeping the years of their manhood away; Years they had marked for the joys of the brave; • Years they must waste in the sloth of the grave. All the bright laurels they fought to make bloom Fell to the earth when they went to the tomb. Give them the meed they have won In the past, Give them the honors their merits forecast; Give them the chsplets they won in the strife; Give them the laurels they lost with their life. Cover them over—yes, cover them overParent and husband and brother and lover: Crown in your heart these dead heroes of ours. And cover them over with beautiful flowers. • »*»•»***! One there is sleeping in yonder low tomb, Worthy the brightest of flow’rets that bloom. Weakness of womanhood’s life was her part; Tenderly strong was her generous heart Bravely she stood by the sufferer’s side,’ Checking the pain and the life-bearing tide; Fighting the swift-sweeping phantom of Death, Easing the dying man’s fluttering breath; Then wheh the strife that had nerved her was o’er. Calmly she went to where wars are no more. Voices have blessed her now silent and dumb; Voices will bless her In long years to come. Cover her over—yes, cover her over— Blessings, like angels, around her shall hover; Cherish the name of that sister of ours. And cover her over with beautiful flowers.

"‘Peace Hath Her Victories.”

They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears Into pruning hooks; Nation shall not lift up sword against nation; Neither shall they learn war any more.—- Ps. 2-4.