Reminiscences of an army nurse during the Civil War

by Adelaide W. Smith

Till we bury our dead!

Haste and bury our dead.

No time for revolving of right and of wrong

We must venture our souls with the rest of the throng

And our God must be Judge as He sits overhead,

Of the weak and the strong,

While we bury our dead.

Now peace to our dead;

Fair grow the sweet blossoms of Spring where they lie;

Hark! the musketry roars and the rifles reply.