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CHILDREN OF THE BATTLE-FIELD. 213
Upon the field of Gettysburg
The full moon slowly rose; She looked, and saw ten thousand brows
All pale in death's repose. And down beside a silver stream,
From other forms away, Calm as a warrior in a dream,
Our fallen comrade lay ; His limbs were cold, his sightless eyes
Were fixed upon the three Sweet stars that rose in memory's skies,
To light him o'er death's sea. Then honored be the soldier's life,
And hallowed be his prayer: " O ! Father, shield the soldier's wife,
And for his children care." |
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