“First in the fight and first in the arms
Of the white-winged angel of glory,
With the heart of the South at the feet of God
And his wounds to tell the story.
For the blood that flowed from his hero heart
On the spot where he nobly perished
Was drunk by the earth as a sacrament
In the holy cause he cherished.
But a handful of dust in the land of his choice
And a name in song and story,
And fame to shout with a trumpet voice –
He died on the field of glory.”
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