The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1870-08-12
ON A VISIT TO THE CONFEDERATE
CEMETERY.
By L'fNCoNSUE.

Mr.. EDITOR: Having wandered into
this sacred spot cannot torbear to drop
line as well as tear. can but exclaim
with O'Hara in his beautiful expression
of the American heroes sleeping at
Frankfort, KY, as he stood before the
grand monument, that marks their last
resting place, his poetic soul gushed
forth in an effusion, unsurpassed by the
immortal Shakespear;
This tlv spot where fame her record keeps,
And honor points and yalor proudly sleeps
Nj. O'lIara sleeps upon some bat
tls-fcld, with no epitaph to mark that
gallant Kcntuckian's grave, wEo donncd
the gray at bugle cali. The FeIerals
have read that beautiful poem several
times in their decorations and claimed it
for their own, while in no one instance
has it been read when we were strew-
ing the stoneless graves Of our loved
dead with fading flowers. As | saw the
withered wrcathes and flowers, | felt how
truly emblematical were they Of our fad
ed hopes and Of the broken wreck Of
love which once surrounded our hearts
and home, as were laid upon the casket
that contains loved image. My mind
is like a ''pensive Ruth )" it CLEANS over
the field of other days when these brave
boys stood by US, and with us, and tied
all endcaring memories into friendships
wreath and laid it upon the tablets OF
self-sacrifce for home and the loved ones
there.
When we recall to mind that there is no
country where these brave mems names
are inscribed upon the roll Of Honor, it
fills my heart with sadness. Atroll call no
one will respond He died upon the field
of HONOR. No, they died for and with,
their cause. As the vivid lightning
writes its fiery path upon the dark cloud
and disappears, SO will the names OF these
brave med, who fell beneath the cannon's
deadly roar and whose spirits have been
borne to eternity where no lannon's
roar is heard to that eternity, that has
no gray hairs. The flowers fade, the
heart withers, and man grows old and
dies, but time writes no wrinkles on the
brow Of eternity, where our friends are
gone. Oh! Eternity Stupendous
thought. The ever-present God, the
golden choir, comprising the life OF
/ Christ, the silver cord which binds the
universe, has It's beauties, but time
shrouds them forthe grave as it has
these dear ones | now sit by. Earth S
honors are but transitory, its pleasures
but bursting bubbles, and its possessions
changeable, but not SO in the dwelling Of
the Almighty; there comes no footsteps Of
decay; its day willknow no darkening;
eternal splendor forbids the approach of
night: its harnonies will never cease;
exhaustless love supplies the song Of
holy angels as they watt them TO the
spirit shore and there received upon the
monumental tablet of Secession's Spartan
braves. Oh! yeloyed dead.
Mother nature folds yon to her gentle breast,
And drapes your humble beds with sweet flower
ing vines,
And sings soft lnllabys DER your dreamless rest,
To the soft sweet music of the summers winds.
Farewell devoted but undying-
Thy names the gentle gales are ever signing.
Tie woods are coupled Of thy fame,
The surging waters whisper of thy name
AsI was about to leave this consecra-
ted spot, (doubly consecrated is it to the
/ Southern heart, for it is purchased at a
sacrifice of personal wants and and needs
of a vanquished people, and reflects
great credit to the ladies Of the Memorial
Association, whonever tire IN wei doinS)