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By G.H.
May 10, 1865. No. 32. Page 3

The war is ended! And in that short sentence is contained all we have hoped for, fought for, and bled for, during the last four years.  The blighting curse of slavery – that bitter bone of contention – that has so long agitated a nation, arrayed brother against brother in deadly strife has been effectually and forever removed and we are to-day in the full and undisputed possession of the greatest conquest we ever desired – universal liberty – peace! All warlike operations have ceased – if we except the pursuit of Jeff Davis, and the work of purging the country of guerrillas – and now all that remains to be done is to return to their homes, all covered with glory, those men who have so long and so unswervingly fought the battles of their country.  Already our brave New England regiments are being disarmed – and soon, very soon, with tattered banners and triumphant carriage they will enter their native States, their native towns, their homes, to receive from a grateful people all that a grateful people can bestow.  They will be disbanded, and make bright again individually their separate firesides.  They will return again to the duties of civil life “to plow and to mow, to reap and to sow.”

Never again to follow
    The flag of the Stripes and Stars;
    Never again to dream the dream
        That martial music weaves.
Never again call “Comrade”
    To the men who were comrades for years,
    Never to hear the bugles,
        Thrilling, and sweet and solemn;
Never again to call “Brother”
    To the men we think of with tears;
    Never again to ride or march
        In the dust of the marching column.

War has left its ravages upon the country and upon the people, and years will pass, and generations will be succeeded by generations, and still the dark bright spot – a dark spot made bright by results – will not be entirely effaced.  Our children and their children’s children will honor and revere the veterans of the war of emancipation, as we honor and revere, to-day, the remaining veterans of the revolution. – Grandchildren will listen with wonder and childish admiration to the tales of limbless grandsires; and as they grow to the plow, will pick from the furrow the skull of many a poor Yorick.  But this is far into the future and before it can happen years are to roll into the future, and thousands upon thousands of poor cripples must pass into eternity. Those cripples are now in the country, in hospitals, and demand every attention that can be paid them. Glory is in every scar, and homage is theirs from all, for their deeds of valor and their sacrifices. Let them be helped on and cheered through life, and then their sacrifice is worse perhaps than death to them.

Crippled forlorn and useless,
    The glory of life grown dim,
    Brooding alone o’er the memory
        Of the bright glad days gone by;
Nursing a bitter fancy,
    And nursing a shattered limb;
    Never again to dream the dream
        That young ambition weaves.



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