Lexington's dead

They come from the grave to attest to the story
That we, of their struggle for Liberty, tell!—
From silence and shade, that her mantle of glory
May fold o'er the first of her Martyrs who fell!

They come, that the balm of her breath may perfume them,
And peacefully then to return to their rest;
That we, from her arms, may receive and entomb them,
Assured that they once have reposed on her breast.

All hail, sacred Relics! from sixty years' sleeping
Beneath the green turf, where so freely ye bled;
Who, shrouded in gore, still the battle-ground keeping,
Forsook not the field, though your vital fire fled!

In valor's proud bed, with its rich purple o'er you,
The first blood for Freedom that gushed on the sod,
Ye lay, when the souls, to the onset that bore you,
Had passed with her cause, through your wounds, to their God.

Behold, blessed Spirits, who, nobly defending
Your country, rushed forth from your dwellings of clay,
The tribute of sorrow and joy we are blending
To you, o'er their dear hallowed ruins, to pay!

The hearts of a nation, your monument rearing,
Have built it of gratitude, fair and sublime.
It rises to heaven, your honored names bearing,
With earth not to sink, nor to crumble with time.

The ground that, as brothers, in pain ye were sowing,
Imbosomed the seed for a root firm and deep,
When life's crimson fountains were opened and flowing
To moisten the soil for the harvest we reap!

Forgive then the view that we take, ere we sever
From these broken wails, that for us ye forsook!
On them or their like again never, O never,
Are we, or the eye that is mortal, to look!

We give them to earth, till the Saviour, descending
With beauty for ashes, and glory for gloom,
Shall speak, while the dead to his voice are attending,
And life, light and freedom are poured through the tomb!