o,/, / " Our Dead." :::>:;
What t\.i. what State his fi-alty claim?
"C. S." upon liis iH'lting's plate-, " N. C." upon his rap, proclaim
The soldier of the " Old North State."
Oh who stands here ? Whose image this,
Instinct with life tho' cast in bronze? The type so true, so vivid is
That ev'ry heart at once responds:
" I ought to know, I've seen that face,
In light, on march, by bivouac's flame, Tho' now I can't recall the place,
Nor who he was, nor what his name.
Yet sure, I know that shape, that head,
Like half-forgotten friends they seem; No doubt he's numbered with the dead,
But 1 have seen him, 'tis no dream.
O triumph of the Sculptor's skill
\yhich thus could strike the magic chord, And cause the Southern heart to thrill
And stir once more its mem'ries' hoard!
This man of bronze, we know right well,
We greet his grave, familiar face, And thus, we do confess the spell
Of GENIUS, king of time and space.
For in this wondrous work of Art
A form was giv'n by plastic hand To the IDEAL of our heart,
The SOLDIER-TYPE of Southern land!
And in this pile that towers above
And lifts its crest toward the sky, Forever shine true woman's love
And constant faith which ne'er can die.
O soldier of perennial bronze
Erect upon the granite gray, Stand at thy post, till from Death's bonds
Thy comrades burst, on Judgment Day.
