Beneath, in the churchyard lay the dead
In their night encampment on the hill
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
You could hear like a sentinel's tread
the watchful night wind as it went
creeping along from tent to tent.
And the moonlight flowing over all.
My grandfather lies in the Wadsworth National Cemetery at Leavenworth, KS. The plain white stone is marked simply:
Marion Brubaker
Sp Am War
Whenever I visit there, I am always impressed with the peaceful beauty of the scene and another verse runs in my mind:
IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Lt.Col John McRae
Thanks. I haven't read that particular Service piece in a while, and it's quite appropriate for today.