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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.
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.
