Chapter 106

A Soldier’s Offering.The laurel wreath of gloryThat decks the soldier’s grave,Is but the finished story,The record of the brave;And he who dared the danger,Who battled well and true,To honor was no stranger,Though garbed in gray or blueGo, strip your choicest bowers,Where blossoms sweet abound,Then scatter free your flowersUpon each moss-grown mound;Though shaded by the North’s tall pineOr South’s palmetto tree,Let sprays that soldiers’ graves entwine,A soldier’s tribute be.—George M. Vickers.

The laurel wreath of gloryThat decks the soldier’s grave,Is but the finished story,The record of the brave;And he who dared the danger,Who battled well and true,To honor was no stranger,Though garbed in gray or blueGo, strip your choicest bowers,Where blossoms sweet abound,Then scatter free your flowersUpon each moss-grown mound;Though shaded by the North’s tall pineOr South’s palmetto tree,Let sprays that soldiers’ graves entwine,A soldier’s tribute be.—George M. Vickers.

The laurel wreath of gloryThat decks the soldier’s grave,Is but the finished story,The record of the brave;And he who dared the danger,Who battled well and true,To honor was no stranger,Though garbed in gray or blueGo, strip your choicest bowers,Where blossoms sweet abound,Then scatter free your flowersUpon each moss-grown mound;Though shaded by the North’s tall pineOr South’s palmetto tree,Let sprays that soldiers’ graves entwine,A soldier’s tribute be.—George M. Vickers.

The laurel wreath of glory

That decks the soldier’s grave,

Is but the finished story,

The record of the brave;

And he who dared the danger,

Who battled well and true,

To honor was no stranger,

Though garbed in gray or blue

Go, strip your choicest bowers,Where blossoms sweet abound,Then scatter free your flowersUpon each moss-grown mound;Though shaded by the North’s tall pineOr South’s palmetto tree,Let sprays that soldiers’ graves entwine,A soldier’s tribute be.—George M. Vickers.

Go, strip your choicest bowers,

Where blossoms sweet abound,

Then scatter free your flowers

Upon each moss-grown mound;

Though shaded by the North’s tall pine

Or South’s palmetto tree,

Let sprays that soldiers’ graves entwine,

A soldier’s tribute be.

—George M. Vickers.


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