 | War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. |  |
UNKNOWN.
Charles W. Hubner.
(Written for the unveiling of the monument to the "Unknown Confederate
Dead," in Oakland Cemetery, Atlanta, Ga., April 26, 1894.)
Not till a voice shall say:
"It is the Judgment Day!
O Earth! give up thy dead"—
Ah! not till this is said,
Will it be ever known
Who here, around this stone,
In death's sweet slumber softly rest,
A wreath of roses on each breast.
"It is the Judgment Day!
O Earth! give up thy dead"—
Ah! not till this is said,
Will it be ever known
Who here, around this stone,
In death's sweet slumber softly rest,
A wreath of roses on each breast.
We only know that they,
With honor, wore the gray—
Badge of eternal fame—
And in thy cause, O South!
Bore to the cannon's mouth
Thy crimson oriflamb,
And hailed its star-cross, waving free,
On many a field of victory!
With honor, wore the gray—
Badge of eternal fame—
And in thy cause, O South!
Bore to the cannon's mouth
Thy crimson oriflamb,
And hailed its star-cross, waving free,
On many a field of victory!
Enough for us to know—
For us they faced the foe!
And though we carve "Unknown"
On this memorial stone,
We feel that Glory claims
For Fame no nobler names
Than theirs—these unknown sons of ours,
Whose dust to-day we deck with, flowers.
For us they faced the foe!
And though we carve "Unknown"
On this memorial stone,
We feel that Glory claims
For Fame no nobler names
Than theirs—these unknown sons of ours,
Whose dust to-day we deck with, flowers.
149
Unknown—save unto God—
Sleep on beneath the sod,
O heroes of the Gray!
Sleep till the Judgment Day;—
When God shall call His own,
There will be none unknown,
For from the ranks, distinct and clear,
You'll answer to the roll-call: "Here!"
Sleep on beneath the sod,
O heroes of the Gray!
Sleep till the Judgment Day;—
When God shall call His own,
There will be none unknown,
For from the ranks, distinct and clear,
You'll answer to the roll-call: "Here!"
| War poets of the South and Confederate camp-fire songs. | |