The Beaver herald. [volume] (Beaver, O.T. [Okla.]) 1895-1923, 1912-06-06
Our Heroes.

The past, rs it were, rises before me
like a dream. Again we are in the great
struggle for national life. We hear the
sound OF preparation-the music Of
boisterous drums-the silver voices of
heroic bugles. We see the thousands
Of assemblages and hear the appeals OF
orators. We see the pale chicks of
wonen and the flushed faces Of men /;
and in these assemblages we see all
the dead whose dust we have covered
with flowers. We lose sight of them
no more. We are with them when they
enlist in the great army of freedom.
We see them part with those they love.
Some are walking for the last time in
quiet woody places with the maiden
they adore. We hear the sweet whis-
perings o. eternal love as they linger-
ingly part forever, Others are bending
over cradles, kissing babes that are
asleep Some are receiving the bless.
ings Of old mcu. Some are parting
with mothers who hold them To their
hearts again and again, and say moth
ihg and some are talking with wives
and e~ndeayoring with brave words
spoken in the old tones to drive away
the awful fear. We see the wife stand
ing in the door with the babe in her
arms-standing in the sunlight sob
bing-at the turn Of the road a hanu
waves-she answers 10y holding high in
her loving hands the child. lie is gone
and forever.
We see them all as they march
proudly away under the Haunting flags
keeping time To the wild, grand mu
sic of war-marching down the street.
Of the great cities-through the town
and across the prairies-down to the
fields of glory, to do and to die for
eternal right.
We go with them one and all. We
are by their side on all the glory fields
in the hospitals of pain-on all the
weary marches. We stand guard with
them all in the wild storm and under
the quiet stars. We are with them in
ravines 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 withered leaves.
We see them pierced by balls and torn
with shells in the trenches OF 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
eau never tell what they endured.
We are at home when the news
comes that they are dead. We zee the
maiden in the shadow of her sorrow
We see the silvered head of the old
man bowed with the last grief.
The past rises before US. We hear
the roar and shrek of the burning shell.
The broken letters fall. There heroes
died. We look. Instead of slaves, we
see men and women aud children. The
wand of progress touches the auction
block, the slave-pen, and the whipping
post, and we see homes and firesides
and school houses and books, and where
all was wan and crime, and cruelty and
lear, we see the faces Of the free.
These heroes are dead They died foI
liberty-they died for us. They are al
rest. They sleep in the land they made
free, under the flag they rendered
.tainless, under the solemn pines, tn,
sad hemlocks, the fearful willows
the embracing vines. They sleep be
meath the shadows of the clouds, care
less alike OF sunshine and storm, each
n the wi dowiess palace of rest. Earth
may run red with other w~ars-they are
at peace. In the midst of battle-ii
the roar of conflict, they found tbs
serenity Of death. | have N senti'
ment for the soldiers living and dead
cheers for the living aud tears for the
dead .-Robt. q. Ingersoll.