How many of our honored dead
Now sleep beneath the Southern sod,
With nought to mark their resting-place;
Their graves unknown, except to God!
Far from their loving ones at home
They died, their country's flag to save,---
That flag the emblem of the free,
That struck the shackles from the slave.
No loving mother's gentle hand
Was there to hold the weary head;
No mourning friends assembled round
The gallant soldier's dying bed.
The suit of blue his only shroud;
His funeral dirge the cannon's roar:
There, where he fell, the soldier lay,
His battles fought, his hardships o'er.
Though flowers may not his grave adorn,
Though loving may not be near,
A country, which he died to save,
Will hold his memory ever dear.
Notes
From: Leedle Yawcob Strauss, and Other Poems by Charles F. Adams, 1878
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Comments
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Different from most of the other poems in the collection for he avoids the awkward dialect for which he's primarily remembered.
It's has the romantic tone of the era, but despite that flaw, it remains a soothing read and sadly it's a topic that is still on our lips 130 years later.
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