Western Kansas world. [volume] (WaKeeney, Kan.) 1885-current, 1891-06-06

DECORATION DAY GRAFTON
Delivered by Capt Pierce Metz at Wa-Keeney
May 30th, 1891.
Mr.. Chairman, Ladies Of tile Relief Corps
Members of tie @. 4. r., and Citizens:
s'The land is holy where they fought
Is holy where they fell,
For by their blood that land was bought:
That land they loved so we'll"
We meet to-day as nation OF mourn
ers; mourning for the departed Army
who wore the Blue. Down the busy and
crowded streets of the metropolis j:
heard the tramp, tramp, tramp OF the
countless thousands as they 60 on their
annual pilgrimage-stepping with mill
tary precision to the sound OF the
muffied drum. On, on, they go to the
quiet city of the dead. there to pay hon.
age to their fallen heroes. In every city,
town, village, hamlet and almost every
cemetery, to-day may be found the loyal,
true men and women of the nation deck
ing these graves with flowers and tears.
We are but one of the many assemble
ges, and have brought our humble offer
ings of flowers to strew upon the graves
of our heroes dead. We take the life of q
flower and cast its whitening beauty and
decaying fragrance upon the bosom OF
the ifeless clay that holds these silent
sentinels within its cold embrace.
It is one of the cruelties OF war that
the soldier must find his resting place
where he falls. A few of them were
taken home by loving friends and rela-
tives and now sleep in the quiet corner
of the church yard, where the birds sing
a requiem to their memory; the rose per-
fumes the air and the ivy vine traileth
over and encircles their tomb. There is a
stern fitness in leaving the dust of a
soldier at the field of his last fight.
Sleep on, Oh! immortal soldier CT the
republic. Above thy grave in humble
attitude we bow. With the new wealth
and fragrance of spring we adorn the
place of thy repose. To us thou art not
unknown. Thou Invest in our memory
still. Thy deeds of valor we know. We
know thy name: thou art the brother of
every noble soul,
The past rises before me like dream.
Again we are in the great struggle for
national life. We hear the sounds of
preparation; the roll Of the drum; the
silver notes of the bugle, calling the
people to assemble. The pale cheeks of
the women are in strong contrast to the
flushed cheeks of the men. We see these
heroes as they enlist. We lose sight of
them no more. We see them take their
last parting with loved ones. We see
the lovers as they walk alone in the quiet
grove and by the side of the silvery
stream. We hear them again renew
their VOWS of plighted love. We hear
her charge him to be a hero as the
knight of old, a lingering good bye, and
be is gone forever. She, the devoted
lover, is here to-day. She is with US in
his assemblage. She sits with bowed
head that is well marked with silvery
threads. Loyal, loving and true, she has
waited in her garb of mourning for his
return. She listened for the footsteps
hat never came. The mother holds her
irst born, noble lad, in fond embrace.
He once more and for the last time pill
ows his head on her bosom. With a
parting benediction resting upon his
youthful head she presses last kiss upon
his fair brow and he is gone, if need be,
10 do and die for the flag.
The saddest parting of all is that of
husband and wife. He tries to talk in
his old way, to drive from her heart the
awful fear. How he presses her again
and again to his heart and says nothing.
She says: John, be noble, brave, be
true. I'll fight the battles at home for
the little ones while you fight the battle
for victory in the sunny South. Togeth-
er they 60 to to the cradle. He prints a
loving kiss upon the brow of the little
sleeper. He clasps the little
form to his manly breast while his flow
ing tears christen it to freedom and
Justice. The shout of the commander,
'Fall in" is heard. One last, fond embrace
and he is gone. She watches him as they
march away, down the street of the
crowded city, where cheer upon cheer
yreets the departing column. On, out
through the lane-a turn in the road
4 hand waves-she, standing in the door
sobbing, answered by holding high in
her loving arms the child. They pass on
over the ridge and he is gone, marching
face toward the foe; he is gone
and gone forever. She turns to her own
room. In her desolation with baby she
sobs away the weary lonesome hours.
The past rises before me like dream.
We see them as they march proudly
away in their coats of blue. under the
banner of freedom, keeping time to the
yrani music of war MARCHING marching