Knoxville daily chronicle. [volume] (Knoxville, Tenn.) 1870-1882, 1873-05-21

Good Turn Out-Address by David An
dersOn. Esq-DecoratiOn of the Con.
federate Dead

:, Il
Yesterday evening, at the hour hereto
fore announced, many of onr citizens, n
CARELESS of politics, assembled at Beth,
Cemetery to engage in the decoration c
the graves of Confederate dead. A libers
contribution of flowers had also been mad
and numbers of baskets filled with beauti
full roses, &C., stood in waiting.
AS soon as the German Band arrived
led for the occasion by Mr.. John Scheri
some excellent music was discoursed, afte
which fervent and eloquent prayer wa
offered by Rev. Mr.. Parker, of Churcl
Street M. E. Church, South. Some NOR
music by the band was succeeded by an ad
dress from David Anderson, ESQ.,, as fol
| lows:
We have assembled to-day, ladies ant
| gentlemen, within the consecrated pre-
cincts of this silent city of the dead, ant
under the ministering genius of an oc
casion fraught with sad yet precious sig:
| nificance that words can but family por
tray, even. could we marshal them into
classical gems or stately phrase.
The contemplations and thoughts awak-
ened here mutely yet eloquently throb
within the depths of the soul. Not un.
| chained fancies that half-hidden swoop to
the enhancing beauty of idealities? No
But the stern and frowning memories of a
history past, oyer-arched with monumental
glOries, now forever entwinedin the hearts
of q loving and patriotic people.
We have gathered here, then, amid the
graves Of our comrades, glorious in the
gloom of their sacred rest, that we may do
homage at the shrine of patriotism that
we may offer tribute to their prowess pay
honor to their heroism; love and gratitude
for, life's devotion. We but render unto
justice the things that are just when we
award to the Confederate soldier who
yielded up life, that glory which son
but to greet the warriors soul.
Within the hallowed home of the dead,
not long since gathered to the Great Spirit,
sleep fathers, brothers, sons.
They sleep their last sleep,
They have fought their last battle,
No sound shall awake them to glory again."
Each mound here tells its own story.
That defiant plume floats over that gallant
head no more. The sheen of that proudly
brandished sword will never more glitter
in the sunshine of victory.
"'Tis shrouded in its sheath again,
And sleeps the sleep of the noble slain,
ITouuly anu peacefully.
There is no shout mid battles din to
gre 2 rect I. that .t han4er's waving crest. All
''For the hands that grasped it
And the hearts that clasped it
Cold and dead are lying now"
Far from home, perchance, upon the red
sands of the battle field, silently and alone
"ebbed the crimson life-tiden fast away. 1t
may have been that ,
mo voice we'll known thro many day,
To speak the last, the parting word,
Which, when all other sounds decay,
Is still like distant music heard"
To-day with you, perchance yet afar from
this scene, so me fathers heart is bowed in
grief for one imprisoned for a season here.
1t may be, too. in anotheryet SUMMER CLINE
a mother, the tendrils of whose clinging
heart are only loosed in death, keeps holy
yigils for her missing boy. To-day, too,
sisters or brothers tear may mingle with
YOURS for one we'll loved and forever gone.
lost but ne'er forgotten captains here. And
among those here whom to-day we fondly
commemorate may sleep that lone widows
soldier, whose
Low hut rests on Lookouts shade
As rots its moss. grown roof away
II While shutdown glories softly fade,
Closing another weary day.
The battles din is heard no more
No more the hunted stand at bay;
The breeZes through the Lonely door
Swing mute a coat of faded gray,
battered relic of the fray,
A threadbare coat OF faded gray,
IT'S hanging on the rough l wall.
Near to the foot of widows bed,
81 By white plume and well worn shawl,
His gift. the happy morn they wed,
The ao ONE %eI they hey gave gave the name Of May.
By her rag doll and pnafore;
By night it's there. the Goa: OF gray.
An armless coat of faded gray.
Her all fife now drapes the wall.
But poor and patient still she waits
Her too within the jeweled gates.
And all she Graves is here to die,
To part from these and pass away,
| To join her loves eternally
That wore the sliP-theS csat Of gray
Her soldiers coat of faded gray"
1t is good to be here. Sorrow is the
hearts best, purest refiner. The grieI lor
our noble patriotic dead, sweetly chastens
but commends no bitter cup of humilia'
ton Ito our lips. The laurels of triumph
wear indeed a pythian beauty. but the
twined cypress, on the brow of land, the
symbol Of sadness and mourning, as has
/ been truly said, is consecrated cOronel
of sorrown that wins the sympathy Of
history" "Calvaries and cr.r..cc.nction.
take deepest root-the triumph of NIGH
| Is transient and soon fOrgOttOn," but thu
sufferings of wounded people are deep
chiseled lines craven lastingly '"upon the
chronicles of nations"
"Yes, give me the laRd where the ruins arr
| spread.
And the living tread light on the hearts of thu
= dead -
Yes, give me the land with grave in each
| spot
And names in the grave that shall not be forgot
Yes, give me the land of the wrecked and thu
tomb, E&}
| There's grandeur in graves, there's glory II
gloom.
For out of the gloom future brightness
| born,
As after the night looms the sunrise of morn,
And the graves of the dead with grass over
grown,
May yet form the footstool of liberty's throne.
Forgetting their passion let us cherish
sacredly within their hearts the measure
BILE events baptized in the best blood of thu