A General in the Army of the Confederate States,
Who fell at Shiloh, Tennessee,
On the sixth day of April, A. D.,
Eighteen hundred and sixty-two.
A man tried in many high offices
And critical Enterprises,
And found faithful in all;
His life was one long Sacrifice of Interest to Conscience;
And even that life, on a woeful Sabbath,
Did he yield as a Holocaust at his Country’s Need.
Not wholly understood was he while be lived;
But in his death, his Greatness stands confess’d
In a People’s tears.
Resolute, moderate, clear of envy, yet not wanting
In that finer Ambition, which makes men great and pure;
In his Honor—impregnable;
In his Simplicity—sublime;
No Country e’er had a truer Son—no Cause a nobler Champion;
No People a bolder Defender—no Principle a purer Victim,
Than the dead Soldier
Who sleeps here!
The Cause for which he perished is lost—
The People for whom he fought are crush’d—
The Hopes in which he trusted are shatter’d—
The Flag he loved guides no more the charging lines;
But his Fame, consigned to the keeping of that Time, which,
Happily, is not so much the Tomb of Virtue as its Shrine,
Shall, in the years to come, fire Modest Worth to Noble Ends.
In honor, now, our great Captain rests;
A bereaved People mourn him;
Three Common wealths proudly claim him;
And History shall cherish him