The News-Herald. [volume] (Hillsboro, Highland Co., Ohio) 1886-1973, 1904-06-09


day, for they would be only what they
have been, soldier. The flag vas
their inspiration. And like the flag
the uniform they wear tells story
of 10y atty to country and proves that
he who wears 1t has seen rivers of
blood shed in defense Of principles
that we're so pure that the world must
respect the man who was a soldier.
To-day we have no north, no south.
Time has blotted out ever ,thing but
patriotism. Wrapped in their wind.
ing sheets of blue the men who died
that the Union might live sleep
calmly on beneath their tents of
silent green, and nature moves so
gently lest she disturb their we'll
earned rest. Art has discovered no
subject more fit for immortalization,
poets have attuned their music to
no more thrilling theme. Every sigh
that escaped upon the tented fields
found its answer at some mothers
freside; every groan that was uttered
in the prison bells was echoed in the
heart of some loved one at home.
Every whistling bullet that found a
place in brave soldiers body carried
misery to some loving hearthstone.
And at last the great struggle was
ended. Then the remnants of that
grand old army came home. Back
from the battle fields came those who
had escaped the terrible slaughter,
but behind them lay thousands who
had gone to the angels home. Broken
down wrecks of manhood, they stood
then as they do to-day, living monu-
ments Of patriotism. The flowers we
bring to mark our heroes graves
signify in their perfume the essence
of our love. If coward lips and coward
tongues speak light Of our soldier
dead it makes us stronger in honoring
them. They sleep in peace. They
sailed life's bark upon the troubled
sea until it anchored in that haven
above where pillows never roll and
storm clouds never lower.
The friends of our childhood days
may be forgotten, but these heroes,
living or dead, never. Memorial
Day will live for ages yet to come.
| 1t comes at a time when all nature
begins new life, when the songs Of
the birds furnish sweet melody, and
our hearts are filed with loyalty.
Poets have sung of loyalty, sculpters
have depicted it almost divinely, ora
tors have woven chapters Of sublime
sentiment around it, but on Memorial
Day we show how pure is our love of
loyalty, and when We have crossed
the dark river other generations will
see that the Union soldier sleeps be-
meath wilderness of flowers. Every
leaf and every bud speaks the lam
guage of love. They are Gods
choicest garlands sprinkled with His
tears: their essence is the purity of
our souls as they cover the mounds
where sleep our soldier dead, and the
memory of the Union soldier will live
until the angel stands one foot on sea
and one on shore to proclaim that
time shalllbe no more.
The bayonet is rusty with age, the
old musket hangs on the wall, the
sabre has lost its CLEAN and the can.
teen is covered with mold, but in
these old heroes hearts the love of the
old flag burns with the same patriot.
ism 1t did when they offered their
lives in its defense. The principles
of the G. A. II. teach them to honor
the dead, bring sunshine to the desc
late home and peace to the afflicted
Blending these great principles OF
Fraternity, Loyalty and Charity to-
gether they form constellation OF
virtues that sparkle and center in
the human heart and makes the world
better without knowing to whom II
owes so much.
"The hand that rocks the cradle
rules the world" and the noble women
of the Relief Corps need no eulogy
1t is woman's heritage to be mans
helpmate. Without her he is like a
bird with broken wing, but with her
he is like an eagle and can soar ia
lofty heights. She believes in love
and mercy. In misery, near the bed
of sickness, over the pillow of death,
in the house of mourning, at the
grave, wherever a kind word can
bring hope or JOY is her mission and
our duty is to aid the noble women of
the Relief Corps, some of whom to-
day look back to the hour when her
sobs we're the death song oyer her
beloved. They silently drop their
tears and scatter flowers upon the
silent mounds, and while their hearts
are breaking as memory brings back
the past they murmur, 1T was Gods
will" Life is but a narrow vale be-
tween the barren peaks of two
eternities. We try to scan the heights;
we cry aloud and the only answer is
the echo of our wailing voice; from
the lips of the dead there comes no
word, but in the night of death hope
sees star and listening love can hear
the rustic of the wings. Woman's
influence brings peace and happiness
and when life's work is done she sinks
to rest and those she leaves behind
L