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FOR OUR COUNTRY TO DIE. 119
Glory that never is dim, shining on with light never ending — Glory that never shall fade, never, O never, away!
Oh! it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love, Wet by a mother's warm tears; they crown him with garlands of roses, Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above.
Not to the shades shall the youth descend who for country hath perished; Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile; There at the banquet divine, the patriot-spirit is cherished; God loves the young who ascend pure from the funeral pile.
Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river ; Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue, rolling sea; |
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