A. A. B. Cavaness.
NATURE, sweet mother, loving all
With equal heart, forgetful twines
Her beauty round the battered walls,
And hides, with flowers, the battle lines.
In languid dream, o'er vale and hill
The daisies sentinel her dead;
Heedless for what they fought and fell,
Or by what banner they were led.
Her children were they all - dear boys-
For something good each heart beat true;
Brothers, yet at the bugle's voice.
To battle marched in gray and blue.