March 8, 1865. Vol. 1. No. 23. Page 4.
Dying far away from home—
Gently breathing out his life,
Was a wounded Union soldier
On a bloody field of strife.
Comrades kindly stooped to aid him.
And to catch the words he said—
“Tell them gently; gently tell them,
That their soldier boy is dead.
Round the fire-side when they gather,
Morn and evening, every day—
As they pray to God the Father,
One they’ll miss that’s far away.
Sleeping on the field of battle—
‘Neath the sods of Southern soil:
Heeding not the musket’s rattle,
Free from earth and all its toils.”
Then sadly in a grave they placed him,
With others of our country’s slain;
And homeward, homeward speed the message,
To hearts that oft must feel the pain.
Look throughout our stricken country;
Mark the many falling tears;
What a record of heart achings
For the future coming years.