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114
A REBEL FLAG OF TRUCE.
We must venture our souls with the rest of the throng;
And our God must be Judge, as he sits overhead,
Of the weak and the strong,
While we bury our dead.
And our God must be Judge, as he sits overhead,
Of the weak and the strong,
While we bury our dead.
Now peace to our dead:
Fair grow the sweet blossoms of spring where they lie:
Hark! the musketry roars, and the rifles reply;
Oh the fight will be close and the carnage be dread—
To the ranks let us hie,
We have buried our dead.
Fair grow the sweet blossoms of spring where they lie:
Hark! the musketry roars, and the rifles reply;
Oh the fight will be close and the carnage be dread—
To the ranks let us hie,
We have buried our dead.
