There's an empty seat where the old folks meet, <br />When they offer their evening prayer, <br />And a look forlorn, for the dear one gone, <br />As they gaze on his vacant chair. <br />There's a silent grief finds never relief, <br />And a face whence the bloom has fled, <br />And a maiden fair, in her beauty rare, <br />Who weeps for her lover - dead. <br />There's a lonely grave, where a soldier brave, <br />Lies asleep in the southern land, <br />While a rusted gun still gleams in the sun, <br />On the parched and burning sand. <br />There's a home above, where the good God's love, <br />Its perfection ever discloses - <br />Where the soldier is blest with eternal rest, <br />And his quiet spirit reposes.<br /><br />Anonymous Americas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dead-70/
