Greenfield Evening Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 29 May 1895 — Page 3

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THE PATRIOTS' GRAVES*

BY NEIL MACDOXALD.

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fc?TKFAY fresh iiowers upon your graves, Where niimrncrs yet tlieir .•igils kitp, Though o'er tin mounds the star llag waves

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For which you fought who iowly leep.

When still tho arms that yon entwined. And thoso bonnved lu»vu joined your throng Yet in a nation's heart enshrined

Your deeds .shall garnish talc anil song,

Green still your graves as years inarch on. The patriot's \me knows nut decline. On heads that fell at JMarathon

Tilt.- amaranthine wreaths still twino.

Sleep, while our country's grateful tears Bedew your quiet- jl i-•' of rest, Henceforth through all the coming years

To freedom and to country blest.

Dead now the rancor once so rife, And south to north is as a brother,*' And gallant- deeds tint mailTed the strife

They prize in common with each other.

Those who for freedom and the flag Laid down their lives without repining, Enshrined with those who did not lag

When star of southland was declining.

Who would not dare to share your fate— The soldier's death, tho patriot's gravels worthy or' a freeman's liato

And only fit to bo a slave.

COLONEL AM) MAJOR.

[Copyright, 1803, by American Press Association. Tiio colonel and tho major sat on the hotel piazza playing cribbago.

Tho soft, balmy spring brcezo now and then boro to their hearing tho blatant. fanfare of trumpets or the roll of drums. Everywhere their eyes wero saluted by the fluttering folds of tho stars and stripes. Occasionally they stopped in their game to look at pretty little girls walking by, dressed in white, their tiny arms tilled with wreaths and bouquets, or at tho wagons rolling in from tho country laden with men a women, hastening to attend tho services which wero to be held in the quiet village graveyard on tho hill yonder, where many dead heroes slept.

It was an ideal Memorial day. Tho skj' wa.- clear as crystal and bluo as sapphires. Here and there it was lovingly kissed by soft, fleecy clouds. Birds wero pouring forth showers of melody from tho trees, gay in their young spring livery.

Tho little tow?i at the foot of tho mountains, lying purple in the soft, swimming sunlight, had taken on an air of almost, joyous festivity. Thocheerful voices, the flowers, the wh'to dresses, the flags and bunting conspired to render the sccneone more like a fete than a remembrance. Oniv tho solemn roll of tho drums at a distance reminded the two old warriors looking on at tho pageant what tho day meant.

Tho colonel rose and walked to tho end of the piazza and leaning against ono of tho pillars stood there in thoughtful silence. The colonel limped a little when he walked. Ilo had carried a bullet in his thigh since Gettysburg.

Tho major, turning in his chair, regarded his friend. The light, striking his tine old l'aco, showed tho ragged scar of a saber cut he got at. Fredericksburg. The two maimed old fellows had not known each other long. Both had drifted to this little mountain resort to drink tho wafers, famous for their medicinal properties. They, had met in tho hotel, struck up a friendship, walked, talked and played cribbago together. Though both had fought in tho civil war, they tacitly tabooed tjio subjoct, for the colonel had fought liko a devil on tho northern side, and tho major had fought liko a tiger on tho side of tho lost "cause.

But now the chords of memory wero strangely stirred. Up through the dark fir trees guarding tho cemetery there

"I AM NOT A RKHEL, SIHI"

suddenly rolled the strain of an old army song, stirring in ita measure, pa* thetio in its melody: "Oh, wrap the (lag around me, boys

To die were far more sweet, With freedom'a banner o'er me, boys, I To be my winding sheet."

Tho colonel gently boat time on the railing with his long, lean hand. His eyes g*ew retrospective. "How it all comes back!" ho murmured half aloud. "1 see the watchfires, the long rows of tents glistening in the moonlight, the

squadrons wheeling down tho hill, tho artillery massing in tho valley, the signal rockets piercing the sky. I can hear the bugle''—

He broke off suddenly. Tho major hail risen and was facing him, his dark eyes blazing, his faec white and drawn. "Don't bring it. up, colonel," ho said hoarsely. "1 can't tell von how it makes mo feel. Do you suppose that I, too, do no* go batik to those days, to all I suffered then and since? I have repressed my emotions for years. But the volcano is here, touching his breast. .''I do not wish it to break forth." "It's a great- idea," replied tho colonel testily, ''if I cannot speak of a night scene in tho le.re war without your etching me irn so roundly. I did not.divam you had so bad a tempo?, sir. "31 romp.T is as evs-n as yours, sir," retorted the major, "but can't you see it is hard enough for mo to witness theso scenes today without having tho whole ghastly panorama again iiiituided beioro me by your thoughiiessm ss, sir?''

The colon.,-! lo.-r his head. "Damme. ho cried, "you b- Is never like to.huar anything for your good!" "1 beg your pardon, sir," said the major with ominous calmness, "did you applv tiiat term to me?'*' "T did." "1 am not a rebel, sir," choked the major. "I fought for a hopeless—a sublime—cause. But now 1 support- the same llag you fought under. Kemember that! After this, of course, will not have the honor of each other's acquaintance," nut I with a haughty bow tho major walked into the hotel.

The1 co-'.nel thumped his cane on the floor of the piazza. His faco flashed. "Devilish hot. headed southerner, ho said, "and yet a charming fellow. What a companion he has been to me! Wnat a game of cribbago ho played! And now to go and spoil everything. Dear, di'av it's too bad. How I shall miss him!"

As the colonel ruefully contemplated tho future a buy approached him with his. mail. Eagerly seizing his letters ho sat down to read them and to forget tho unpleasant episode as quickly as possible. (ne of his letters was from an old army friend, a man with whom ho had. kept up an acquaintance born in lire and smoke. A sentence in tho letter ran as follows: "Curious tiling yon should bo ri llazle Wells on Memorial day. That was Dennison's wife's home, and I am sure he is buried in the cemefvry there. You must throw a flower on his grave forme."

The colonel dropped the letter in. amazement. Dennison! Out of tho past there rosa a beautiful figure, with fearless ey s, resolute lips, soft, fair hair, gay, good humored, smiling face and reckless, audacious air. What a rare fellow hi' was! Dennison, who feared :iei-

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t'ner man nor devil, AVIIO led wherover liopo was most forlorn, who was always where she light was hottest, who fell at last, a jest on. his lips, struck to tho heait by a southern bullet, A southerner, too, by birth and education, but who broke away from tradition a: environment and drew his sword in defenso of his country's flag. "1 remember, now, his wife was a northern girl. Dennison used to talk of his home up in tho Alleghanies. And it was here? And his grave is over there?" The colonel strained his eyes toward the graveyard. "Just as soon as tho crowd gets away I will go over and iind it and put a lev/ flowers on it. Bravo boy, bravo fellow. I am so glad Tom wroto me."

Meautimo tho major had passed through t« whirlwind of passion and sorrow alone in his room. What right had this insolent, triumphant northerner to stir him so? Why disturb those depths in liis bruised, aching old heart? Over and jver tho southerner lived tho past, with its dreams of glory, its futile struggles, its cruel disappointments. Again ho saw tho idol of his boyish dreams, as, vanquished, beaten, but still heroic, he handed his conquered sword to tho victor. Again ho saw his homo destroyed, himself poor, forced to accept a menial position, drifting about, a battered old wreck on tho sea of life, until he had fallen in with this man, whom he had honestly liked and who had needlessly hurt him and opened the old wounds afresh.

A knock at the door, and tho major's mail was handed him. As ho looked it over he saw a letter, directed in the well known writing of hia lawyer iu Atlanta. He broke it open and read it hurriedly. Then he sank back in his chair, and from his closed eyes large toars slowly dropped down over his scarred face.

Tho sentonco which had so profoundly moved him was this: "Sho has loft iier fortune to you, as her husband, your brother, loved you so. His grave is iu tho cemetery of tho very town whero you are now stopping. ...

Tho afternoon sun poured a flood of dazzling light across the marble headstonoH, whoso solemn rigidity was softened by garlands of flowers. Tho crowd had gone. Here and there a stray visitor yet wandered, reading tho names cut on tho white stones. Tho solemn, pur•Io mountains were rose Hushed by tho tanset. Up from the village came at in-

a'olebodied men to enlist. Early in tho third he had himself inarched away as their captain, with the young men from his own congregation who had offered I themselves to their country. If the boy was doubtfnl about his father's safety I before the deacon spoke, he was not afterward. It seemed to his young mind as if tho deacon has said bet-ween his audible words: "The elder is killed, boy! Do you hear? Killed!"

John hurried into tho house with his pail of cherries, kissed his mother and started on a run for tho postofiice. It was a hot day, but he did not mind the heat. It is doubtful if he knew it was hot. He thought only of tho bare possibility that he might get a letter addressed to his mo t'ner or himself in his father's dear handwriting, and ho ran till nature was exhausted and ho had to stnn and res? under the shadow of a big button bail treo by tho side of tho road. When ho had regained his breath, ho gnu-led again, but this time at a more moderate pace, ami as ho appreached the little general storo whero the pnstofliee was k--pt his footsteps lagged. He was afraid lie would receive the same answer that he had for days, "is'othing today, sonny. Tell your mother the papers missed this week. Xo, there is no letter. I swan, I wish there was."

That was just tho answer the boy did receive when at last ho crept into tho storo between rows of two tined hayforks and wooden hand rakes, but there was'this addition by the kindly old postmaster to tho dreaded words that tokl tho i-tory of no mail: "Tell your mother that we may got another mail today, and if wo do we'll send anything that comes for you right. up."

There was no regular service to tho little postoliiee, for no railroad ran through tho narrow valley, but the mail was brought from tho county seat, 11 miles distant, at intervals by any one who went that way.

During tho boy's weary homeward tramp through tho dust and under the burning rays of tho sun bethought only of how he should tell his mother there was still no mail.

When he reached home, ho found a half dozen whito haired farmers, all clad in Sunday black, standing about: tho yard under the shade of tho trees. There were no young or middlo aged men there, for all such in that neighborhood had gone to the war with their beloved

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preacher. As tho boy entered tho yard ono of the men hastily stuck a newspaper, from which ho had been reading to the oihers, info his pocket.

In the little parlor of the whito house there were .several women younger than Deacon Nelson's wife. Their husbands were soldiers, too, and at tho front with the preacher. The boy's mother was sitting in the center of a circle of kneeling women, her eyes set and tearless, but there was. a sound of subdued sobbing from some of tho others. Tho deacon was just: beginning a prayer. "Dear Lord, our heavenly Father," quavered tho deacon in tender and reverent, tones. Then ho stripped.. What was that?

The boy's rar was hot- the only ono that caught the sound of life and drum, tho life playing merrily, "Kally Round tho Flag, Boys, Rally Once Again"— you know how it sounds, reader—while tho drumsticks wero beating out tho time in lively measure.

A moment more, and tho rattle of a wagon coming down a stony slope in tho road was heard. Then there was a cheer, and the life and drum changed to "Yankee Doodle. Presently tho wagon, in which sat the postmaster himself, tho blacksmith, the cooper and tho boys who wero playing the fifo and drum drovo noisily up. The old postmaster almost fell out of tho wagon and stumbled up tho path to tho door. He was quite breathless, but he held aloft in his hand rf*big yellow envelopo. "It's from the elder, brethren! It's from the elder!" he gasped. "I know his handwriting, and the postmark is since the battle. Open it, ma'am, ho said to tho boy's mother, "and read it out."

Everybody gathered around her as sho took the missive, but it wasn't opened just yet, for she fainted before she could cut tho envelopo. It was not long. It said: "DEAK WIPE AND SON JOHN—I havo been hurt a little and lay on the field all night, but it is not serious, and I shall not even have to go to tho hospital. So do not be worried. We havo won a great victory, and our God will keep mo safely to the end and bring us all together again.'' "Let us sing the Doxology, 'Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,' said Deacon Nelson, while his eyes streamed. Then they all sang with the spirit and tho understanding also. Whon the singing was over, tho newspaper that had been hidden from the boy was brought out. It told of tho battle of Gettysburg, and the namo of tho older was in tho list of tho missing.

Tho elder did live to como homo again, and on every Docoration day since the establishment of that boautiful holiday he has mado a talk over tho soldiers' graves in tho little cemutery back of tho 3hurch in tho valley, of which he is still pastor. I. D. MARSHALL.

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Tho boy knew his mother to be quite as anxious as ho that tho trip should bo mado to the postoliiee. 1* or more than a week his daily visih after tho mail had been fruitless, and he- was certain sho was worrying, in spite of her usual air of cheerfulness, for tho head of tho little family was at tho front, wearing a blue uniform, and vague rumors were afloat of a bloody battlo in Pennsylvania.

Singularly enough., tho mail had lately failed to firing newspapers, as well as letters, and it had not been possible to borrow from tho neighbors as usual. The bov and his mother had not talked much on the matter but, whatever his mother thought, he suspected bad news in the papers—news that would explain why there wero uu letters. Ho was impatient to go to tho postofiice, but he dreaded the visit, too, and this made him climb diiwn tho ladder slowly when at last tho nail was filled lor tho third time.

As his feet touched tho earth lie. beard tho rattle of wheels, and looking amund he saw Deacon Nelson's big bay horse and decent: black democrat wagon, driven by tho deacon himself, draw near. Tho deacon's countenance, which was generally smiling and jolly, was very solemn now, and the faco of tho deacon's wife, who sat on the back seat under a

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[Copyright, Ib'.i.'C by Ami-rican Press Association. It was a two story framo house, painted whito and with green blinds, and it. stood a little way back from tho road that wound through a narrow valley between low hills of second growth timber. In front of tho house was a big, heavily fruited cherry treo. A boy was perched upon a ladder among tho branches, iiliing a tin pail with the ruby fruit, his lingers flying as if he wero competing with the birds, who seemed to think they had a mortgage on all tho cherries in the neighborhood. But his hasto had another cause. His mother laid but a moment beforo told him that- when ho had filled t-ho pail three times ho might go to tho postofiice, a mile farther down tho valley, and inquire for tho mail.

{I it- IS

DRIVEN BV THK DEACON HIMSKLF.

gingham parasol, was tear stained. As tho deacon slowly got out of tho wagon and tethered the horsb he asked, with a fine show of cheerfulness: "Has your mother hoard from tho elder in a day or two, John? No? Well, Marthy and mo was just driving by, and we thought we'd make a little visit, you see, just to ask how your corn crop was getting ou, you know." Then, to his wife in an undertone, ho said: "Now, bo careful, Marthy. It's all right it's all right. It must be all right, I toll you."

Tho deacon was ouo of tho chief pillars in tho church of which tho boy's father, beforo going to tho front, had been pastor, and, liko all in that neighborhood and similar neighborhoods, the deacon always spoko of his minister as "tho el dor." This ininistor had boon outspoken in his patriotism duriDg tho first ''ear of tho war. During the second he had induced uiany of tho neighborhood's

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tervais tho mufiled sound of the martial music, now rising and swelling, now softly dying away.

Tho colonel slowly and laboriously picked his way among tho graves, stopping now and then to read a namo or date. At last ho came to a well kept illclosure, and parting tho climbing roso vines passed in. Yes, hero was what ho sought. A smooth whito sla'o told tho world that "Here lies Captain (diaries Dennison, 4!)th Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteers," with the added verso:

On fame's eternal campini jrronnd y^e Their silent tents !iro s]i'e nl, And }?lory guards with c.-^seless round .Tho bivouac of tho dead.

The poor old colonel was so overcome at beholding, after so many years, tho tomb of his favorite officer that, showering the grave with the costliest- flowers he haul been a bio to procure, ho bent his head upon his hands and sobbed aloud.

A sound near him made him raise his head. On the other sido of tho grave stood tho major.

Tho two men looked steadfastly ateach other for a moment-. "Colonel," tho major was first to speak, "what was Captain Charles Dennison to you?" "A beloved officer, sir," said the colonel, struggling to choke back his emotions. "1 ioved him like a son, sir. I onlv learned this morning that ho was buried here"— lie broke off, unable further to pr:ice"d. "And a it -i your flowers.-1" asked tho major. *,

Tho colonel'only bowed his head. "I thank vou, sir," said the major his most stately and winning manner, "for tills kindly tribute to ono of my family"— po "Your family?" gaSped the colonel. "Yes, Captain diaries Dennison was my youngest brother, sir."

Tiio colonel reooih as if he had been pti'iu'lc. jjiiii in mi intuit, r"'Ovi'i'ing himself, he courteously doffed his hat, and extending his long hand over the grave said simply, "Will you forgive me, major?"

And as tho sun dipped down behind tho mountains it sent its last rays across two battered, maimod old heroes going away arm in arm from tho grave of Captain Charles Dennison.

And tho north and tho south once more wero reunited. EDITH SESSIONS TUPPER.

The Iuty of tiio Living.

Our duty would bo very incompletely dono if wo contented ourselves by meroly chanting liosaunabs to those who in tho past havo given their lives to aid in achieving these grand reshlts unless we can catch some inspiration to further duty from tho contemplation of their sublime self sacrilico. It becomes us, tho living, to address ourselves with renewed energy and enlarged faithfulness to the preservation and perpetuation of these grand results.—Clinton Lloyd.

Remembrances of Rose*.

When slowly falls tho curtain of the night And none is hero except the silent deud When pales the western sky in dying light

And ashen grayness comes in crimson's stead. Then will we know each buried hero tranquilly reposes Midst memories of music and remembrancer of roses. —E. M. Tabor.

A Sentiment by

If silence be ever golden, it must bo horo besido tho graves of those 1U,000 soldiers, whose lives wero more significant than speech and whoso death was a poom tho music of which was, never sung.—Speech at Arlington.

The Nation Mourn* Its Patriots. When ft king is dethroned, tho people tejoico, but whon a patriot dies a nation mourns.—(i. W. Atkinson.

Kent On.

Best on, embalmed and sainted dead. Dear was tho blood you Ravo. No impious footsteps here shall tr!ttd

Tho herbage of your grave.

SOUR SOLDIEr! DEAD.

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Beautiful TriJ.iil.es u-l re:it'i'lioughta bjr I'oet him] Sa !.. OW. Sleep, eon.rr.des. :,!eep and rest,

On this iieiu tli-- grounded arms, We re

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f:yy Vi'e deck vvit li nicrrant tlo"\ver3. Yo.-r- ilv.- saaerinjc been 1 Tho !jK'i iory £hall be ours. vi

IIow bright are the honors which await thosa who, wiih sacre I iVrtirudo and patriotic partieneo, hnv..- eae.ared 1! things that t-lrjy might save their native land from division and from tho power of eorru])tio:i! The honored dead! They that uied for a t-au.se are redeemed from death. Their liu-ITes are gathered and i.-aruert-d. Thi.ir iiieuiory is precious. Each plaee grows proud for them wiio were born tliere. There is to be ere Ion i:i every viilaga. and in very neighborhood a Klowin^ prido In its mart.vreil lieroes. Tablets shall preserve th' U- names. Pious-iove shall renew their inscriptions as time and the unf. eJir.'C elements decay th. m. Ami Iho national Is shall Kive muliitad-. ol' pi\rioas names to iho ora-t-.,T'.s lips. Children shall grow up under mora sacred inspirations whose elder brothers, dyiu _: nobly i'or their country, left a name that honored and inspired all who bore it. Orphan children .-hall lind thousands of lathers and mothers to I'«ve and help those whom dying .heroes left as a legacy to the gratitude of the public.

Oh, toll me not that they are dead, that generous host, thai airy array t.l' invisible heroes I They hover as a elea.l of witnesses above this naJion. Are they de-i:l that yet speak louder that we can speak, and a more universal language? Are th-.-y dead that, yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroie patriotism?

Ye that mourn, let gladness lir.ncdo with your tears. He was your son, but now ho 13 the nation's, lie made vour houwehohls bright. Now his example inspires a thousand households. Dear to his brothers and sisters, ho is now brother to every generous youth in tli» land, fit lore he was narrowed, appropriated, shut up to you. Xow he is augmented, set free' and given to all. He has died irom the l'amily that he might live to t-ho nation. NoO one name shall be forgotten or neglected, and it- shall by ami by be confessed, as of an aneient hero, that he did moru for his country by his death than by his whole lift!. —iienry Ward Beeclier. ,K,-

Ti.ey sleep so calm and stati ly, i'.:ch his graveyard bed, It scarcely seems that lately

They trod the li. Ids blood rod With fearless tread.

They marched and never halted. They ,-caled the paraoet. The- triple linos a.--- uiln

And paid without ngret The linal debt.

The debt- of slow ac ruiiijf A guiity nation made The debt of evil do.i'g, justice long dt levi d— this th- paid. -. —Theodore P. Cook.

Oh, brother.-", tiio clay:nights 1 gi..rv smae, And tin- love of .u:' souis is stronger than the :.i'at and the lire oi win-'. We were foes when the guns wero frowning from th" walls t!iat were-.mm and steep. Now the .-rass and the b!o.-soms are crowning tiio graves v.'iier.- our heroes .sleep, And tho years with purpose are pregnant, though .mi' sworos are rod with rust, And right ia the world is regnant-, and wrong lies prone in the du -. —Thoi-as S. Collier.

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O my country, my eountrv! Heart of my heart and lii'" oi' my hie: O ve dead who j' died in our defense, whose eagle eye grew dim in lie smoke of V.attle, and v. Iiom* bra\ la-arts stopped bi'.ating at the cannon's moutli! The I sons and daughters of Ann rica will not forget! thee! You, my comrades, have two lmmort-al-ities. One you will take with you beyond tho stars. The other will live lot'ever the deeds you have done, in the gioilou.-. llag and gov-

eminent- you have done so much to honor and preserve! ....v-lh-v. II. Stone Klchardsou.

Soldiers, who freely i'or .-ir eor.ut ry's glory a,w I'jtheld our ilag soi'theru hill and plain, I I^ong may our e.ee.ls 1t oii.l gratetlll story.

Ye have not lived in vain.

Dl'eth1 rs, '..i'.o f-.ught for more' than empty honor That ail our land united mi-rht b- tree, ilav shine foi'eVerm ie i^iuii our banm

Each nt-ar for lil.ei I I Heroes, who tolled through all the dusty marehe. I Ami life surrendered on those shot plowed

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To ye who lied where the bluo sky o'erarehes

Tribute a

loll le'ids.

I ... —William II. Kandall.

This day is sa-red to our heroes dead. Upon their tombs wu have lovingly laid the wealth of spring. Tins is a day for #iemory and tears. I A mighty nation bends ab«\o its honored graves and pays noble dut the tribute of its

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love. Uratitiuie is the faii'e-t (lower that sheila its perfume in the heart. Toda\ uetell the hldtorv of our country's lite, recount tho loity deeds of vanished years, the toll and suffering, the defeats ami victories of heroic men, of men I who made our nation great- and true. Today wo remember the defeats, the victories, th» I disasters, the weary marches, tho poverty, the hunger, the sufferings, the agonies and abovti all the glories of revolution. We remember all I —from Lexington to alley Forge and from that midnight despair to Yorktown's cloudlca* day. —Itobert-U. IngersolL

Yield not. to grief the tribute of a tear, But 'neath the forefront- of a spacious sky Bmile all exultant, as they smiled at fear

Who dared to do "where doing meant to die. So best may comrades prove remembrauo# dear.

So best be hallowed earth whero soldiers II* Francis Howard Williams.

XIX-

Bring flowers to strew again With fragrant purple rain Of lilacs and of roses whito and red Tho dwellings of our dead, our glorious doa4» Let tho bells ring a solemn funeral chime And wild war musio bring anew tho time When they who sleep beneath Wero full of \igorous breath I Ami iu their lusty manhood sallied forth, Holding in strong right hand The fortunes of the land, Tho prido and power and safety of tho norttw* —Henry Peterson.

Btrew tho fair garlands whero alumbor th* dead, Iling out tho strains like tho swell of the sea* Heartfelt the tribute wo lay on oaeh bed.

Sound o'er the bravo tluurefrain of tho fre|# Sound the refrain of the loyal and free. Visit eaeh sleeper and hallow each bed, Wave the starred banner from seacoastto sea»

Grateful tho living and honored tho dead. —Kitmuel P. Smith*

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