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[353] What flag, what State his fealty claim?
     ‘C. S.’ upon his belting's plate,
N. C.’ upon his cap, proclaim
     The soldier of the ‘Old North State.’

Oh who stands here? Whose image this,
     Instinct with life thoa cast in bronze?—
The type so true, so vivid is
     That ev'ry heart at once responds:

I ought to know, I've seen that face,
     In fight, on march, by bivouac's flame,
Thoa now I can't recall the place,
     Nor who he was, nor what his name.

Yet sure, I know that shape, that head,
     Like half-forgotten friends they seem;
No doubt he's numbered with the dead,
     But I have seen him,—'tis no dream.

O triumph of the Sculptor's skill
     Which thus could strike the magic chord,
And cause the Southern heart to thrill
     And stir once more its mem'ries' hoard!

This man of bronze, we know right well,
     We greet his grave, familiar face,
And thus, we do confess the spell
     Of genius,—king of time and space.

For in this wondrous work of Art
     A form was giv'n by plastic hand
To the ideal of our heart,
     The soldier-type of Southern land!

And in this pile that towers above
     And lifts its crest toward the sky,
Forever shine true woman's love
     And constant faith which ne'er can die.

O soldier of perennial bronze
     Erect upon the granite gray,
Stand at thy post, till from Death's bonds
     Thy comrades burst, on Judgment Day.

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