of our great conflict, our veterans—the ‘frail wrecks from that gory sea.’ Not in feeble language of my own—but in the touching lines of Frank Stanton, who makes such loving appeal for
The Confederate soldier.Here he is in wreck of gray—
With the brazen belt of the C. S. A.
Men, do you know him? Far away
Where the battle blackened the face of day,
And the rapid rivers in crimson fled,
And God's white roses were wrecked in red,
His strength he gave and his blood he shed;
Followed fearless where Stonewall led,
Or galloped wild in the wake of Lee,
In the daring mad artillery.
Shelled the ranks of the enemy,
For the South that was and the South to be;
Or bore his musket with wounded hands,
O'er icy rivers and burning sands,
Levelled straight at the hostile bands,
That swept like death through the ravaged lands,
Men do you know him? Grim and gray,
He speaks to you from the far away.
There he stands on the prison sod,
A statue carved by the hand of God;
He bore his rags and his wounds for ye.
He bore the flag of the warring South
With red—scarred hands to the cannon's mouth—
By Heaven! I see as I did that day
The red wounds gleam throa the rags of gray.
Men of the South, your heroes stand
Statue-like in your new born land.
Will ye pass them by? Will your lips condemn?
The wounds on their brave breasts plead for them.
Shall the South that they gave their blood to save
Give them only a nameless grave?
Nay; for the men who faced the fray
Are her's in trust 'till the judgment day,
And God Himself in the sweet far land
Will ask their blood at their country's hand.