The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1899-07-26

woody places with the maidens they
adore. we near The whisPerings and
the sweet VOWS OF eternal love as they
llnReringly part forever. Others are
bending over cradles, kissing babies
that are asleep. Some are receiving the
blessings Of old men. Some are part
ing with mothers, who hold them and
press them to their hearts again and
again. and say nothing: and some are
talking with wives and endeayorins
with brave words spoken in the old
tones to drive from their hearts the
awful fear. We see them part We
see the wife standing in the door with
the babe in her arms-standing in the
sunlight sobbing; at the turn OF the
road a hand waves; she answers BY
holding high in her loving hands the
child. He is gone, and forever.
We see them all as they march proud
~ away under the Haunting hags.keep-
ing time to the wild. grand music Of
war-marchIng down the streets Of the
Ereat cities, through the towns and
across the pralries-down to the fields
Of glory, to do and to die for the eternal
right.
We go with them. one and all. We
are by their side on all the CORY fields
in all the hospitals Of paIn-on. all the
weary marches. We stand guard with
them in the wild storm and under the
quiet stars. We are with them in ra-
vines running with blood-in the fur
rows Of old fields. we are with them
between contending hosts, unable to
move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing
slowly away among the wlthered
leaves. We see them pierced by balls
and torn with shells. in the trenches by
forts, and in the whIrlwind OF the
charge, where men become iron. with
nerves OF steel.
We are with them In the prisons Of
hatred and famine; but human speech
can never tell what they endured.
We are at home when the news comes
that they are dead. We see the maiden
In the shadow of her first sorrow. We
see the sIlvered head Of the old man
bowed with the last grief.
The past rises before US, and we see
four millions OF human beings govern
ed by the lash; we see them bound
hand and foot: we hear the strokes of
cruel whips: we see the hounds track
ing women through tangled swamps;
We see babes sold from the breasts of
mothers. Cruelty unspeskable! Out
rage Infinite!
Four million bodies in chalns-four
million souls In letters! All the sacred
relations OF wife. mother, father and
child trampled beneath the brutal feet
OF might! And all this was done under
our own beautiful banner OF the free.
The past rises before US. We hear the
roar and shrek Of the bursting shell.
The broken letters fall. These heroes
died. We look. Instead Of slaves, we
see men and women and children. The
wand of progress touches the auction
block, the slave pen, the whIppIng-post,
and we see homes and firesldes, and
school houses and books; and where
all was want and crime and cruelty
and letters we see the faces of the free.
These heroes are dead. They died for
liberty-they died for us. They are at
rest. They sleep in the land they made
free, under the flag they rendered
stainless. under the solemn pines. the
sad hemlocks. the fearful willows, and
the embracing vines. They sleep be-
meath the shadows of the clouds, care
less alike of the windowless palace of
rest. Earth may run red with other
wars-they are at peace. In the midst
of battle, in the roar of conflict. they
found the serenity of death. "a voice
"GIory"O have one sentiment for the
soldiers, living and dead-cheers for the
living, and tears for the dead.
To Give Them n Rest