in a great cause. Greater honor to the mother, the wife, the sister who girds his sword, yields him to the call of duty and dies a hundred deaths in his. By their spirit and by their deeds the women of the Confederacy are equal sharers with its soldiers of a glory which one could not have achieved without the other. Then let their names be written high upon the roll of honor when fame bequeaths her jewels to history.
Let the song and the stately rhymeto voice their praise and honor their memories until the South's last poet is dead and his harp hangs tuneless on the willows of time. Aye, of their devotion, their heroism, their Christ-like ministrations and sufferings, let the recording angel, dipping his glowing pen in the golden chalice of the sun, write upon the great scroll of heaven immortal.
With softly sounding tread