Dead

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