When tidings come of him who marched
So blithely forth to war.
Oh! sad for them, the stricken down
In manhood's early dawn,
And sadder yet for loving hearts.
God comfort them that mourn!

Yes, victory has a fearful price
Our hearts may shrink to pay,
And tears will mingle with the joy
That greets a glorious day.
But he who dies in freedom's cause,
We cannot count him lost;
A battle won for truth and right
Is worth the blood it cost!

O mothers! count it something gained
That they, for whom you mourn,
Bequeath fair Freedom's heritage
To millions yet unborn;--
And better than a thousand years
Of base, ignoble breath,
A patriot's fragrant memory,
A hero's early death!





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