III.—PRAYER FOR THE DEAD.
Father of Heaven, we bow before thee, under the temple of the clear
blue sky and within the shadow of yon oaken grove, we bow beside the
corses of the dead. Our hearts are sad, our souls are awed. Up to thy
throne we send our earnest prayers for this, our much-afflicted land. Turn,
oh! God, turn the burning sword from between us and the sun of thy countenance.
Lift the shadow of death from our land. And, as in the olden
times, thou didst save the oppressed, even when the blood-stained grasp of
wrong was at their throats, so save thou us, now—oh, most merciful God!
And if the voice of prayer is ever heard in thy courts, for the spirits of
the dead, then let our voices now plead with thee, for the ghosts of the
slain, as they crowd around the portals of the Unseen world.
Oh! Lord God, look into our hearts, and there behold every pulse throbbing,
every vein filling with one desire, which we now send up to thee,
with hands and soul upraised—the desire of freedom for this fair land.
Give us success in this our most holy cause. In the name of the martyred
dead of the past, in the name of that shadowy band, whose life-blood
dyes a thousand scaffolds, give us freedom.
In the name of Jesus give us peace! Make strong the hands of thy servant
even George Washington. Make strong the hearts of his counsellors,
stir them up to greater deeds even than the deeds they have already done,
let thy presence be with our host, a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of
fire by night.
And at last, when our calling shall have been fulfilled, when we have
done and suffered thy will here below, receive us into the Rest of the
Blessed.
So shall it be said of us—
“Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord,—they rest from their labors,
and their works do follow them!”
The last words of the preacher, sank into the hearts of his hearers.
Every man felt awed, every soul was thrilled.
The preacher made a sign to the group of war-worn soldiers in attendance
at the head of the graves. The coffins were lowered in their receptacles
of death. The man of God advanced, and took a handful of earth,
from one of the uprising mounds.
There was universal silence around the graves, and thro' the grave-yard.
“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
The sound of the earth rattling on the coffin of General Nash, broke with
a strange echo on the air.
Slowly along the sod, passed the minister of heaven speaking the solemn
words of the last ceremony, as he flung the handful of earth upon each
coffin.
A single moment passed, and a file of soldiers, with upraised muscuets,
extended along the graves. The word of command rang out upon the air,
and the shot after shot, the alternating reports of the musquets, broke like
thunder over the graves of the laurelled dead.
The soldiers suddenly swept aside, and in a moment, a glittering cannon
was wheeled near the graves, with the cannonier standing with the lighted
linstock, by its side. The subdued word of command again was heard, the
earthquake thunder of the cannon shook the graveyard, and like a pall for
the mighty dead, the thick folds of smoke, waved heavily above the grave.
Again did the file of musquetry pour forth the fire, again did the cannons
send forth their flame, flashing down into the very graves of the dead, while
the old church walls gave back the echo.—Again was the ceremony repeated,
and as the thick folds of cannon-smoke waved overhead, the soldiers
opened to the right and left, and the pall-bearers of the dead advanced.
They advanced, and one by one looked into the graves of the slain.
This was the scene when Washington looked for the last time into the
grave of Nash and his death-mates.
The sun setting behind the grove of oaks threw a veil of sunshine over
the masses of armed men thronging the grave-yard, over the reversed arms,
and craped banner of blue and stars. The form of Washington, standing at
the head of the grave, was disclosed in all its majesty of proportion, his face
impressed with an expression of sorrow, and his right hand reversing
his craped sword; Wayne—the gallant, the noble, the fearless Wayne—
stood at his right shoulder, and then sweeping in a line along the graves,
extended the chieftains of the army, each face stamped with grief, each right
arm holding the reversed sword; there was the sagacious face of Greene,
the bluff visage of Knox, the commanding features of Sullivan, the manly
countenances of Maxwell, Stirling, Forman, Conway, and the other officers
of the continental host. All were grouped there beside the graves of the
slain, and as every eye was fixed upon the coffins sprinkled with earth, a
low, solemn peal of music floated along the air, and a veteran advancing to
the grave, flung to the wind the broad banner of blue and stars, and the last
glimpse of sun-light fell upon this solemn relic of the
Battle=Day of Germantown.
