by Elizabeth Stoddard
Falling leaves and falling men!
When the snows of winter fall,
And the winds of winter blow,
Will be woven Nature's pall.
Let us, then, forsake our dead,
For the dead will surely wait,
While we rush upon the foe,
Eager for the hero's fate.
Leaves will come upon the trees,
Spring will show the happy race;
Mothers will give birth to sons,
Loyal souls to fill our place.
Wherefore should we rest and rust?
Soldiers, we must fight and save
Freedom now, and give our foes
All their country should -- a grave!
Houghton, Mifflin And Company, Boston And New York