Our martyred dead! on each low bed, Green be the chaplet, fresh the roses; No marble cold may guard your mold, But loving hearts around are swelling. Oh, lightly rest, on each calm breast, The turf where each in peace reposes; Each daring deed shall gain the meed Of praise from all hearts richly welling. Hail! hero shades, your battle blades A wall of steel our homes surrounded; Your sacred dust be the choice trust Of Freedom's grateful sons and daughters. - Anonymous
"When earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it --lie down for an aeon or two. Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work anew..." ~Rudyard Kipling~

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