“Father! the pearly gates unfold,
The sapphire walls, the streets of gold
Are bursting on my sight;
The angel bands come singing down,
And one has got my starry crown
And one my robe of white.”
The morning of the 15th, sister Anna and I, accompanied by Rev. Mr. Reid and wife, Miss Jones and Chaplain Gage, visited brother’s grave. Oh! how could we realize, as we stood by that little, narrow, turfless mound, that dear Orville lay there? His poor heart-broken widow threw herself upon his grave and gave vent to her deep grief in sobs and bitter tears. Nearly three hundred brave “boys in white” lay side by side in the same enclosure, with not even a stone to mark the place where they were sleeping, nor a spear of grass growing upon their graves, simply buried out of sight; but each little mound is cherished, oh, how sacredly by some one!
Night winds are mournfully sweeping,
Whispering oak-branches wave
Where your loved ashes are sleeping,