Evening sentinel, Thursday, May 30, 1912 · page 9

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

By the edge of the Atlantic. where the
waves of Freedom roar.

“ And the breezes of the ocean chant a re-
quiem to the shore.

0n the Nation’s Eastern hill-tops where its
corner-stone is‘laid.

0n the mountains of New England. where
our father's toiled and prayed.

Mid old Keystone’s rugged riches. Which
.the miner's hand await.

Mid the never-ceasing commerce of the busy
Empire State.

With the country’s loveand honor on each

brave. devoted head.

Is a band of noble heroes — is our Army of
the Dead.

Not with musket and with sabre. and with
glad heart beating fast.

Not with cannon that had thundered till the
bloody war was past; ‘

Not with voices that are shouting with the
vim of victorys note;

Not wrth armor gayly glistening and flags

that proudly float;

Not with air of martial vigor. nor with‘

steady Soldier tramp.
Come they grandly marching to us— for the
. the boys are all in camp.
With forgetfulness upon it—each within his
earthly bed,
Waiting for his marching orders is our Army
of the Dead.

1

Fast asleep the boys are lying. In their low
and narrow tents; "

An no battle-cry can wake them, and no or-
ders call them hence;

And the yearnings of the mother'and the

anguish of the wife,

fiannot with their magic presence call the
soldier back to life; .

And the brother's manly sorrow, and the
father’s mourniul pride.

Cannot give back to his country him who
for his country died.

. They who for the trembling Nation in its

hour of trial bled.

Lie. in these its years of iriumph. with our “

Army of the Dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

l‘

OUR ARMY
OF THE DEAD

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 

—

‘On ,the lake-encircled homestead of the

thriving Wolverine,

0n the beauteous Western prairies with
their‘carpeting of green.

By the sweeping Mississippi. long our coun-
try’s pride and boast.

0n the rugged Rocky Mountains. and the
rich Pacific coast,

. in the listless. sunny Soathland, with its

blossoms and its vines. .

0n the bracing Northern hill-tops. and amid
their murmuring pines.

Over all our happy country—- over all our
Nation spread.

Is a band of noble heroes ~ is our Army of
the Dead.

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When the years of Earth are over, and the
cares of Earth are done.

When the reign of ’lime' is ended. and liter-y "

nity begun.

When the thunders of Omniscience on our
wakened senses r ll. ,

And the sky above shall wither. and be
gathered like a scroll;

When, among the lofty mountains. and
across the mighty sea.

The sublime celestial hunter shall ring out
the reveille.

Then shall march with brightest lsurels. and
with proud. victorious tread.

' To their station up in Heaven. our Grand

Army of the Dead.

But, ah! the graves which no man

' ~ ' name 0 knows:
DEC oration Uncounsiedr graves. which nev»

er can be found;
Graves ot‘ the precious “miss‘

Da ing.‘ 'where no sound
y Of tender weeping will be heard,

. where goes
By Helen Hunt No 'hlovin step of kindred—O.
. how f owe
jackson. And yearns our thoughts to
them!

But nature knows her wilder-
ness;

There are no “missing" in her
numbered we

In her glad heart is no forgetful-

ness;

Each grave she keeps. she will

f adorn. caress.
as“ summer lays.

‘ ' .- . And all her days are Decors—

tier! days! -

fl " one.
Ale-q” . it

 

 

 

 

 

...'.. We cannot lay such wreathes .

 

THE THIRTIETH OF MAY.

~¢~~

(Uncle John in the cemetery af-
ter the decorations.)

These are not all i
Here by the wall
Is the grave of one who died in
the war,
Though her body hadn‘t a wound
nor scar.
Her hope and heart was broken.
when
In a massol men.
Her lover fell in a pool of gore
With the flag he bore.
Her life and love together fled
when he was dead
Any vi’lets left girls? Let them
fall
Here by the wall.

These are not all!
Go back. and call
The boys that carry the ever-
green.
Here is a grave you men hain't
seen.
It's old man Brown's. His heart
clean broke,
'Most as if he was women-folk.
He had five sons—his wife was
dead——
Nothin’ could keep ’em to home.
he said.
An' every last one 0‘ that whole
lot ‘
Had to get shot!
Th’ old man hadn’t no grit. no
pride——
Jest up and died!
Lay the evergreen softly down
Over the grave of old man Brow n.

These are not all!
Lct lilies {all
Here on this wee. small grave in
the shade
I can remember the day we laid
The catpain’s baby in this green
spot.
Cap'. he was shot.
An' some fool neighbor made
haste' to tell
The catpain’s widder the news.
and—well. ..
Down she went in a faint—just
fell!
And it killed the baby. She lived
on.
Health and reason forever gone.
Lay lilies here.
Was that a tear?
I went to the war myself that
year.

Put roses here.
This grave is dear—
She was my sister. The truest
heart.
Always ready to do her part.
Uave up her son
When the first gun
Thundered at Sumter! She had
but one.
An’ she died. when
(With stronger men)
He starved to death in a prison
(Th5en boy she had fed and clothed
and kissed,

"An' done for, so that he hardly

missed
His father—dead when he Was a
child).
She never smiled:
She loved red roses when w‘e was
small;
Here let them fall.
We honor the soldiers;- b,ut they
ain’t all!

-—Mrs. McVean Adams, .in the
Travelers’ Record.