Classic Poem

Our martyred dead!
They speak to us from many a grave,
Far off or near,—they who would save
Our country in her hour of pain,
And find in loss eternal gain;
Whose fresh young lives were laid too soon
Upon the altar, ere Life's noon
Had scarcely come, and while each heart
Throbbed wildly comfort to impart
To this fair land, all stricken now,
And made beneath the rod to bow.
Our God, who “doeth all things well,”
Hath given us the flag-decked bier,
The muffled drum, the falling tear,
And, harsh and sharp, the funeral-bell,
Instead of merry shout and song,
As victor armies marched along,
And broken circles were made whole,
While parted friends clasped hands again:
Ah me! to greet their patriot dead
How many fond hearts wait in vain!
The patriot host
Go not alone into the halls,
The “silent halls of death:”
From quiet homes and peaceful haunts
Goes up the parting breath;
And one who loved her Master well,
And of his dying love would tell
To pupils dear, and sing his praise
On glad, returning sabbath days,
Hath ceased her labors here below,
And soared where sister-seraphs glow,
And, with a sweet and pure renown,
Hath taken Life's immortal crown.
Young eyes were dimmed with tears for her
Who taught them day by day,
That she no more with them, on earth,
Would tread in wisdom's way;
And many a parent's heart grew sad,
As children wept o'er teacher dead.
For her the white robe well might be
The garland, and the cross
Of beauteous emblem-blossoms sweet,—
Since ours alone the loss.
Years will roll on.
The soldier in his honored tomb
Will hear no noise of war;
The teacher in her quiet grave
Will know no schoolroom jar;
And on the hearts which loved them her
Their names inscribed shall be,
Till every heart hath tasted death,
And death no more shall see.
Look up and on!
The light that shines afar comes down
From heaven's pearly gate,
And none who knock in Jesus' name
Outside shall ever wait.
Behold the dawning of that day,
The coming of that hour,
When all our griefs shall pass away,
And sin shall lose its power!
Far up the heavenly heights I see
“The Lamb for sinners slain.”
Fear not, O mourning heart! for thee
The dead shall live again.
Washed in the fountain of thy blood,
O Saviour! all shall be
Who in thy might each foe withstood,
And humbly looked to thee.
He in thy realm of peace shall rest
Who in thy name hath fought,
And by the Master's side shall dwell
The teacher and the taught.
Farewell to both!
Soldier and teacher, rest!
Room is there for you in the leaf-clad earth,
Room on the Saviour's breast!