99
No statues rise to mark the sacred spot,
Nor pealing organ swells the solemn note.
A hurried grave thy soldiers' hands prepare,
Thy soldiers' hands the mournful burthen bear;
The vaulted sky, to earth's extremest verge,
Thy canopy; the cannons' roar thy dirge.
Affection's sorrows dew thy lowly bier,
And weeping valor sanctifies the tear.
Nor pealing organ swells the solemn note.
A hurried grave thy soldiers' hands prepare,
Thy soldiers' hands the mournful burthen bear;
The vaulted sky, to earth's extremest verge,
Thy canopy; the cannons' roar thy dirge.
Affection's sorrows dew thy lowly bier,
And weeping valor sanctifies the tear.
