"With a firm, clear voice, that re-echoed to the distant hills, he
announced his text:--

_'They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_

Then, straightening himself to his full height, and his eye beaming with
a holy feeling inspired by the time and place, he commenced:--

"'_They that take the sword shall perish by the sword.'_
'Soldiers and Countrymen:

We have met this evening perhaps for the last time. We have shared
the toil of the march, the peril of the fight, the dismay of the
retreat--alike we have endured cold and hunger, the contumely of the
internal foe, and outrage of the foreign oppressor. We have sat, night
after, night, beside the same camp-fire, shared the same rough soldiers'
fare; we have together heard the roll of the reveille, which called us
to duty, or the beat of the tattoo, which gave the signal for the hardy
sleep of the soldier, with the earth for his bed, the knapsack for his
pillow.

'And now, soldiers and brethren, we have met in a peaceful valley,
on the eve of battle, while the sunlight is dying away behind yonder
heights--the sunlight that, to-morrow morn, will glimmer on scenes of
blood. We have met, amid the whitening tents of our encampment,--in
times of terror and of gloom have we gathered together--God grant it may
not be for the last time!

'It is a solemn moment. Brethren, does not the solemn voice of nature