Our Dead
Dublin Core
Title
Our Dead
Subject
dead, Confederate, war,
Creator
Yorick
Source
http://addison.vt.edu/record=b1775388~S1
Publisher
Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University.
Date
July 1877
Contributor
Lee Mathias, Kristin Colonna
Rights
Permission to publish images from The Gray Jacket must be obtained from Special Collections, Virginia Tech.
Format
Text
Language
English
Type
poem
Identifier
LD5655.V8 L4, ser.1, v.2, no.9 (July 1877), p.1
Coverage
South Carolina
Text Item Type Metadata
Text
Written after seeing the ladies of Chester, S. C., decrorate [sic] the graves of the Confederate dead.
Ye sleep at last our dead, Beneath a ransomed sod;
The State for which you freely bled
Is free again, thank God!
Your brothers do not come
Almost by stealth to weep,
With low and hushed lament—as some
Forbidden rite to keep.
No alien ruler fears
Dire treason in your grief,
Whose heaving breast and bitter tears Find here a blest relief.
The flowers your sisters bring
Bloom not from their despair;
Their hopes have hailed a brighter Spring Than blossoms in the air.
No more, Oh Honored Dust!
Shall love for you be bann'd,
Your graves, no less our private trust,
Shall claim your mother's hand.
For in her seat of power
The spotless knight and true,
Your leader, Hampton, sits! the hour Of justice stikes [sic] for you.
The years of faith cannot
Be ever spent in vain,
Avenging time has quickly brought
Carolina's own again.
Ye sleep at last our dead, Beneath a ransomed sod;
The State for which you freely bled
Is free again, thank God!
Your brothers do not come
Almost by stealth to weep,
With low and hushed lament—as some
Forbidden rite to keep.
No alien ruler fears
Dire treason in your grief,
Whose heaving breast and bitter tears Find here a blest relief.
The flowers your sisters bring
Bloom not from their despair;
Their hopes have hailed a brighter Spring Than blossoms in the air.
No more, Oh Honored Dust!
Shall love for you be bann'd,
Your graves, no less our private trust,
Shall claim your mother's hand.
For in her seat of power
The spotless knight and true,
Your leader, Hampton, sits! the hour Of justice stikes [sic] for you.
The years of faith cannot
Be ever spent in vain,
Avenging time has quickly brought
Carolina's own again.