The Soldier's Grave

These are the lyrics to one of the songs on my new CD, "Homespun Songs of the C.S.A Volume 3." This is one of my few favorite songs ever.

O stranger, tread lightly, 'tis holy ground here.
In death's cold embrace the soldier sleepeth here;
On the red field of battle my brave comrade died,
And his last smile I caught as I knelt by his side.
Yes, his lips wore a smile, and he feared not to die,
And his ear caught the shout as it rose to the sky:
"The vict'ry is ours!" his comrades cried,
"Thank God," said the soldier, as smiling, he died.

With hearts full of grief we stood 'round his bier,
And each soldier's eye was moist with a tear;
And with sad solemn steps we marched to his grave
And o'er our brave brother our flag we did wave.
Yes slowly and sadly we waved a farewell,
Though his spirit already in heavenly realms did dwell;
But his body we tearfully lowered 'neath there,
And the heart of the soldier did send for a prayer.

May God help his mother the sad blow to bear,
May God help the widow of him who lies 'neath here;
May he guard the orphans whose little hearts grieve,
That thus no more a father's fond kiss shall recieve.
Then stranger, tread lightly, 'tis holy ground here,
In death's cold embrace the soldier sleepeth there;
Tis the grave of the hero 'neath the grass covered sod.
His spirit's in Heaven, at home with his God.

Killed at the Ford

This is a poem by Henry W. Longfellow that I did for copy work a while back. I liked it, so I thought I'd put it on here for my readers to enjoy. (Note: blithe means merry, light-hearted.)


He is dead, the beautiful youth,
The heart of honour, the tongue of truth,
He, the life and light of us all,
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle call,
Whom all eyes followed with one consent,
The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word,
Hushed all murmurs of discontent.

Only last night, as we rode along,
Down the dark of the mountain gap,
To visit the picket guard at the ford,
Little dreaming of any mishap,
He was humming the words of some old song:
"Two red roses he had on his cap
And another he bore at the point of his sword."

Sudden and swift a whistling ball
Came out of a wood, and the voice was still;
Something I heard in the darkness fall,
And for a moment my blood grew chill;
I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks
In a room where someone is lying dead;
But he made no answer to what I said.

We lifted him up to his saddle again,
And through the mire and the mist and the rain
Carried him back to the silent camp,
And laid him as if asleep on his bed;
And I saw by the light of the surgeon's lamp
Two white roses upon his cheeks,
And one; just over his heart, blood-red!

And I saw in a vision how far and fleet
That fatal bullet went speeding forth,
Till it reached a town in the distant North,
Till it reached a house in a sunny street,
Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat
Without a murmur, without a cry;
And a bell was tolled, in that for-off town,
For one who had passed from cross to crown,
And the neighbors wondered that she should die.