O haste ye all! for far away In lonely beds our heroes sleep, O’er which no wife may ever pray, Nor child nor mother ever weep.
No quaintly carved memorial stone May tell us that their ashes lie Where southern pines make solemn moan, And wailing winds give sad reply.
But deep in dreary, lonesome shades, On many a barren, sandy plain, By rocky pass, in tangled glades, And by the rolling, restless main;
By rushing stream, by silent lake, Uncoffined in their lowly graves, Until the earth’s last morn shall break, Must sleep our unforgotten braves!
O sun! O rain! O gentle dew! O fresh young grass, and opening flowers! With yearning hearts we leave to you The holy task that should be ours!
Light up the darkling forest’s gloom; Cover the bare, unsightly clay With tenderest verdure, with the bloom, The beauty and perfume of May!
O sweet blue violets! softly creep Beside the slumbering warrior’s bed; O roses! let your red hearts leap For joy your rarest sweets to shed;
O humble mosses! such as make New England’s woods and pastures fair, Over each mound, for Love’s sweet sake, Spread your soft folds with tender care.
Dear Nature, to your loving breast Clasp our dead heroes! In your arms Sweet be their sleep, serene their rest, Unmoved by Battle’s loud alarms!