The Guthrie daily leader. [volume] (Guthrie, Okla.) 1893-1996, 1894-05-30

Again TO the sound Of fife and drum
the gray-haired Veterans of battles and
campaigns l.ccp time to the music
that cheered them as they plodded
through the mud or dust, under the
glowing sun or drigzling rain,
towards those fields where they fought
so nobly for their country and the
principles of liberty. Not now, as of
old. do they march forth to fight. but
they bear to the "bivouac of the dead"
the tokens of love and memory. and
lay them over the mounds beneath
which lies the dust once senticnt with
patriotism and courage. Cornelia OF
old cast the dust Of her murdered sous
into the air. and in time there sprang
from it. rs from the tabled dragons
teeth, an avcngcr of their blood. Our
newer, better republic needs no red
handed Marius To deal death TO her
enemies. She has laid the dust of her
murdered sons on thousand battle
fields and from il have sprung forbear-
arce, mutual forgiveness and a patriot
ism bounded by no lines of politics or
faction.
The veterans OF her fields and camps
sleep drcamlessly in numberless peace
full churchynrds, and though their
tombstones bore only the words: "He
was soldier of the republic" the
epitaph would still be one more glori-
Gus in the eyes of his countrymen
that any of the records of "storicd
urn" which tell not to the living the
story of liberty impcriled and res
cned We honor the dead soldier as
| the living soldier with our need of
praise. He stands to us not as the
/ embodiment of brute force of des-
! potsm, not as the stern henchman OK
/ war, but as the type of citizenship
which in time of danger risks every
thing for his country's honor, darcs
and does all for her glory. Our stand
ing army to-day would not cover one
fourth the shortest of our frontier
lines; but in the hour of Americas
peril every artisan, clerk, farmer.
every man able TO raise n hand in her
defense becomes warrior for her
honor. Ask the gray-hared veteran,
laying so tenderly the emblems of inn
mortality over the grass-grown grave
of the dead: what is the bulwarlS of
our nations might?" and hear him
answer: The strong arms and true
hearts of her sons, the prayers and
self-sacrifice of her daughters"
The red tide has ebbed from Shiloh,
Antietam, Gettysburg, the Wilderness,
and the souls of brave men that it left
dead behind it, the tears and groans
that were the echo of its shot and
shell, the heart-break and agony OF
widows and orphans, have risen to the
throne of the Great All Father, and
thence again human sorrow and suffer.
ing have Descended to earth, robbed
of pain and hideousness, and have
fructified the seed of good lying hid
den in the bosom of calamity and
made it bear rich fruit to all the ages.
Thus the nations dead have become
eternal. Every stride of the freed slave
toward moral and intellectual liberty
is the impulse given 10y their hands
Every sound of free and happy labor
where once the wailing of the op
pressed was heard, is the TIE Deum OF
their souls, every heart-throb OF prog
ress a pulsation from those silent
breasts.
Let us then keep in memory theil
lives by this yearly pilgrimage to the
shrine of glory and honor-the sol
diers' graves. Let us lead our children
by the hand to the cemetery, and, af
IIamilrar caused his son Hannibal u
be led To the altars of the gods, that he
might swear there undying hatred &c
Rome, let us pledge our children TO etcr-
nal love of freedom. Let us sit with them
I Al. T.. = q L.. ..,.1 tl,...
tell their stories of stricken fields and
dreary marches, listen to the pcan OF
patriotism that swells through even
the humblest of those tales, and re
fresh our souls as from living foun'
tains
We thank God for Peace, with all hei
blessings, her happy homes, her hum
of commerce-but let us be grateful
also for war which revealed to this
nation the greatness of her sons. Nc
longer does the proud south stand
aloof, seeing in the sons of the north
the progeny of puritan and peasant
no longer does the north view the
sons of tie southland as partahers o.
worn-out theories of the aristocracy
of blood. The scales have faller
from the eyes, and we are brothers
; where once we were foemen, sons o.
the same divine Liberty who stands Oh
the highest mountain top and in the
lowest valley of our land, challenging
the world to love her by the calm dig
nifty of her mien and the noble ideall
she creates. Let the strains of Dixie
be mingled with our anthem, for ther'
is no longer any south or north, bu
one union, girt by seas and lakes, ON
country, reigning in the hearts of th'
people, one hope for us and for our chill
dren.
When the last veteran shall be gath
cred TO the breast of earth and shal
, speak only with the dumb eloquenc'
of these myriad mounds, the lesson o
his patriotism shall still be repeated
and with each recurring season th'
gathered sweetness of the first fruit
of the springtime shall be brought Il
, these sacred shrines as emblems tina
as long as the sun shines to call fortl
the hidden life from the soul, as Ions
as the rain falls and the dews bedey
the verdure in the hills and meadow
and the sky arches above us, SO lonl
shall the liberty the soldier loved b
cherished by the nation as its deares
possession.
- Onco Acar.
Mildred-Why, Amy, surely you ar
not tinting your cheeks?