Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 May 1897 — THE LAST OF HIS REGIMENT. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE LAST OF HIS REGIMENT.

His face Is bronzed oy summer's suns. His locks are white as winter's snows. His form Is bent. Ills eye Is dim. For war and age have left tlielr woes. Yet bravely steps the veteran. And proudly bents the old, worn drum. To him no music half so sweet In days gone by or days to come. No comrades march with him to-day Along the narrow vllluge streets. The last of all Ills regiment, No soldier face his vision greets. In trenches rude tlielr bodies lie. And glltt'rlug stars lone vigils keep. No more the bugle call to arms Shall rouse them from their dreamless sleep.

From Appomattox to the Gulf, The Mississippi to the main, 'Neath Southern skies. In alien soil. They rest In long surcease from pain. The rough, gray stone with legends brief Reveals their home beneath the sod; And some, perchance, He with the dead Cnknown to man, but known to God. To others happier fate awards Repose beneath their native clime; And now the mounds above their dust Take on the green of glad springtime. By loving eyes their graves are watched, And loving hands fond offrlngs bring Of roses, lilies, violets. No fairer dowers deck bier of King.

But while' no comrades keep him step, The veteran treads not alone l'ne way that to God’s acre leads Fast fruitful fields with daisies strewn. A lad of soldier ancestry Strides by bis side—a drummer true— And troops of happy children bear Their tribute to the Boys In Blue. With heads uncovered, bended low. They pay the meed to valor due. ' The simple prayer, the gllst’nlng tear « Proclaim tnelr faith and love anew.. The last of all his regiment, All honor to this passing type. The Inst of that Grand Army host For Death’s grim harvest soon shall ripe.