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Lie the true martyrs of the fight,
Which strikes for freedom and for right.
Of them, their patriot zeal and pride,
The lofty faith that with them died,
No grateful page shall further tell
Than that so many bravely fell ;
And we can only dimly guess
What worlds of all this world's distress,
What utter woe, despair, and dearth,
Their fate has brought to many a hearth.
Just such a sky as this should weep
Above them, always, where they sleep;
Yet, haply, at this very hour,
Their graves are like a lover's bower;
And Nature's self, with eyes unwet
Oblivious of the crimson debt
To which she owes her April grace,
Laughs gayly o'er their burial place.

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Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents he had-they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with a tearful eye:
It's only a soldier's grave-pass by.

True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or of triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk 'high;
Only a soldier's grave-pass by.

Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh;-
Yet, 'tis only a soldier's grave-pass by.

Yet, should we mark it-the soldier's grave, Some one may seek him in hope to save! Some of the dear ones, far away, Would bear him home to his native clay; 'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh, Find not the hillock, and pass him by. (Southern.)



“Is there any news of the war?” she said.
“Only a list of the wounded and dead,"
Was the man's reply,
Without lifting his eye
To the face of the woman standing by.

“ 'Tis the very thing I want,” she said; “Read me a list of the wounded and dead.” He read the list-'twas a sad array Of the wounded and killed in the fatal fray.

In the very midst, was a pause to tell
Of a gallant youth who fought so well
That his comrades asked: "Who is he, pray?"
“ The only son of the Widow Gray,”

Was the proud reply

Of his captain nigh-
What ails the woman standing near?
Her face has the ashen hue of fear!

Well, well, read on; is he wounded? Quick! O God! but my heart is sorrow-sick! Is he wounded?No; he fell, they say, Killed outright on that fatal day!” But see, the woman has swooned away!

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Sadly she opened her eyes to the light;
Slowly recalled the events of the fight;
Faintly she murmured: “Killed outright!
It has cost me the life of my only son;
But the battle is fought, and the victory won;
The will of the Lord, let it be done!"

God pity the cheerless Widow Gray,
And send from the halls of eternal day

The light of his peace to illumine her way. (Southern.)



Sleep, comrades ! sleep and rest

On this field of grounded arms, Where foes no more molest,

Nor sentry's shot alarms.

Ye have slept on the ground before,

And started to your feet At the cannon's sudden roar,

Or the drum’s redoubling beat.

But in this camp of death

No sound your slumber breaks; Here is no fevered breath,

No wound that bleeds and aches.

All is repose and peace;

Untrampled lies the sod; The shouts of battle cease,

It is the truce of God.

Rest, comrades ! rest and sleep!

The thoughts of men should be As sentinels, to keep

Your rest from dangers free.

Your silent tents of green

We deck with fragrant flowers; Yours has the suffering been,

The memory shall be ours.

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Blessed is that country whose soldiers fight for it and are willing to give the best they have, the best that any man has, their own lives, to preserve it because they love it. Such an army the United States has always commanded in every crisis of her history. From the War of the Revolution to the late Civil War, the men followed that flag in battle because they loved that flag and believed in what it represented.

That was the stuff of which the volunteer army of '61 was made. Every one of them not only fought, but thought. And many of them did their own thinking and did not always agree with their commander. A young soldier in the late war was on the battle line ahead with the color-guard, bearing the stars and stripes way in front of the line, but the enemy still in front of him. The general called out to the colorbearer, “ Bring those colors back to the line," and quicker than any bullet that young soldier answered back, “ Bring the line up to the colors.” It was the voice of command; there was a man behind it, and there was patriotism in his heart.

"So nigh is grandeur to our dust;

So near to God is man,
When duty whispers low, ‘Thou must,'

The youth replies, 'I can.''

And so, more than two million brave men thus responded and made up an army grander than any army

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