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May 30, 1893
by [?]


IT seemed to be but chance, yet who shall say
That ’twas not part of Nature’s own sweet way,

That on the field where once the cannon’s breath
Lay many a hero cold and stark in death,

Some little children, in the after-years,
Had come to play among the grassy spears,

And, all unheeding, when their romp was done,
Had left a wreath of wild flowers over one

Who fought to save his country, and whose lot
It was to die unknown and rest forgot?