Classic Poem

Upon a dreary mountain top
Where pine trees dismal moan,
There is a solitary grave
With briers and weeds o'ergrown.

They say a soldier fills that grave,
Who bravely fought and died
For rights and liberties
On the Confed'rate side.

But little does it matter now,
Can't we forgive his fault?
And the faults of his fellow soldiers
As we stand by his wooded vault?

No name is on the rough pine slab
Which marks the lonely spot;
His name is not forgot.
But in some far-off Southern home

No loving friends nor kindred
Have wept here by his grave,
Or planted flowers tender
Over his bosom to wave.

They know not where he reposes,
They cannot find him to-day;
They just know that he died in battle,
From home and friends far away.

So let us to-day bring flowers,
And tenderly strew above
The dust of the sleeping soldier
These tokens of our love!