A SOLDIER DEAD.
129
No grand great good can spring
Through painless ease to birth!
The hand of chastening falls with weight
Upon the cringing earth!
But midst it all, we know,
Through darkness and through light,
That God is strong enough to bring
The victory to the Right!
Through painless ease to birth!
The hand of chastening falls with weight
Upon the cringing earth!
But midst it all, we know,
Through darkness and through light,
That God is strong enough to bring
The victory to the Right!
October, 1862.
A SOLDIER DEAD.
He died amid the red hot smoke of battle,
Died, with the flag, blood-purchased, in his hand;
Died, with his white lips shouting, "On to victory!"
Cheering, and urging on his bold command.
Beneath a Southern sky of softest azure,
His grave-faced comrades laid him down to rest,
While muffled drum-taps stirred the air of evening,
And the great sun hung low within the west,—
Laid him to sleep with the blood-reeking banner,
So dearly won, shrouding his lifeless breast.
Died, with the flag, blood-purchased, in his hand;
Died, with his white lips shouting, "On to victory!"
Cheering, and urging on his bold command.
Beneath a Southern sky of softest azure,
His grave-faced comrades laid him down to rest,
While muffled drum-taps stirred the air of evening,
And the great sun hung low within the west,—
Laid him to sleep with the blood-reeking banner,
So dearly won, shrouding his lifeless breast.
What need of sculptured urn, or mausoleum,
To tell his virtues, consecrate his name?
He perished for his country! death all-glorious!
The proudest fate that's given man by Fame!
A nation's tears are his,—a nation mourns him,—
His monument shall outlast space and time!
To tell his virtues, consecrate his name?
He perished for his country! death all-glorious!
The proudest fate that's given man by Fame!
A nation's tears are his,—a nation mourns him,—
His monument shall outlast space and time!
