And yonder poor widow is weeping a lad who at Gettysburg fell.
Leaden hail raining around him, at the head of the column he stood,
Determined if needs be to die there as only a patriot could;
And fighting as brave as a lion; ay, brave as a lion at bay,
He shouted "The Union forever!" and sank in the midst of the fray.
Then holy, thrice holy the record, the blood written record of deeds
Which proves, by the fruit of his effort, the work of the martyr succeeds;
And fitting it is that the blossoms should ever be destined to shed
A shower of delicate perfume o'er the hallowed graves of the dead.
Blessed it is to do homage to the men who would willingly give