With loving hands to mark the spot with willow and with rose;
Not in the quiet nooks and dells of the old homestead place,
’Mid scenes of boyhood days time never can efface;
But in strange lands we laid them down, in rough dug soldiers’ graves,
And far from home and kindred ones they sleep, our fallen braves.
II.
No mother’s wail of sorrow o’er the new sod, fresh and green,
Where sleeps the boy she nursed and loved, and fondled when a ween;
No blue-eyed maiden, golden haired, to drop the bitter tear,