The Dying Soldier. ARCHING for Atlanta, Sweeping scouts and pickets Driving in the foe, With the peals of martial music, Did Sherman's army go. Through forests deep and rough ravines, 'Twas skirmish day by day, To feel the foe and and know the point It was a grand and gorgeous sight;- As o'er the hills and through the vales They tried to flank them on their march, With solid shot and shell, When a thousand muskets said "retreat, For I do my mission well." The deep voiced thunder pealed afar, The rebels charged again and again, Till flesh and blood could bear no more, Then on that field of dead and dying, They saw the golden cord was loosened, 76 THE DYING SOLDIER. They read it in the purple flow, That roamed from cheek to cheek, And the quivering of his pallid lips, Though faint he thus did speak: Glancing at his mangled limb, He said, "we've gained the victory, boys! He drew a picture from his breast, And then he pressed it to his lips, And said, "before I go, We'll give three cheers for the dear old flag That flag will win, I know!" Then with a gentle smile, His spirit winged its flight; No more to hear the bugles call, Or share the bloody fight. Decoration Day. Is mete that we should meet this day, And strew them on our comrades' In memory of the hours When we were called to cut the sod And place our comrades under:— They who the hand of treason had From this world snatched assunder. 'Tis mete that we should meet this day, 78 DECORATION DAY. Gave up their homes and loved ones dear, And suffering bore from year to year, Then yielded up their lives. 'Tis mete that we should set apart A day of adoration, In honor of our sons that fought And fell to save this nation; And while our days are lengthened out, We will each year spread flowers about Our comrade's graves. 'Tis mete that we should weld anew For the boys who quietly slumber, 'Tis mete that we should teach our sons, All treason to abhor, |