DEAD
Author Unknown


There's an empty seat where the old folks meet,
    When they offer their evening prayer,
And a look forlorn, for the dear one gone,
    As they gaze on his vacant chair.
There's a silent grief finds never relief,
    And a face whence the bloom has fled,
And a maiden fair, in her beauty rare,
    Who weeps for her lover -- dead.
There's a lonely grave, where a soldier brave,
    Lies asleep in the southern land,
While a rusted gun still gleams in the sun,
    On the parched and burning sand.
There's a home above, where the good God's love,
    Its perfection ever discloses --
Where the soldier is blest with eternal rest,
    And his quiet spirit reposes.

The Home Front