On fame's eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spred;
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivourae of the dead.
When our great country went to war; when America offered her best, the flower and chivalry of her young manhood, George volunteered, thus placing his life at the disposal of his country. And we cannot do those dear boys who were willing to make the supreme sacrifice too much honor. George was in Company B 35 division and was killed in the great battle of Argonne Forest, on September 29, 1918, at 6 o'clock in the evening. In two hours after George was killed, their company was relieved by the Wildcat Division. His body was buried in a lonely trench in France, until the great war ended. The body was returned to his parents and many friends Monday, August 15, when it was placed in the armory hall to await for the return of the National Home Guard from Sedalia. They and the Masons bore it gently to its last resting place, at Mt. Zion Cemetery, Wednesday.
In Flanders Field the graves of American soldiers are no more worthy tribute to American valor than are the graves of soldier boys who died in camp in America during the war, and in the homes of America as an aftermath of the terrible scourage of war, and as long as the Republic has loving women and patroitic men their heroes will not be forgotten.
George's death seems to us, who loved him, with our shortsightedness, a tragedy, but there are no accidents in the providence of God. If the dear father and mother, the sister and brother and the sorrowing friends will cling to the hand of One who is too wise to make a mistake, too good to be unkind, after awhile their broken hearts will be healed, and they can look up through their tears and say with God's tender smile of approval, "Thy will be done." Let us remember, "The Captain of our salvation was made perfect through suffering, for though He were a son, yet learned obedience by the things which He suffered." Let us think that as his comrade in arms stood silent guard by the dear boy's body in the casket, so we should stand silent guard by our friends in the hour of trial, knowing that:
Behind the dim unknown,
Sitteth God with the shadows,
Keeping watch above his own.
Taps has sounded for our soldier boy; the next reveille will be on the Eternal Camping Ground, when our Great Commander will call the roll; and since George had put his trust in this Captain of the unnumbered hosts of the blood-washed throng, he will be ready to answer, "Here."
We have laid George away as tenderly as we knew how, his casket wrapped in the folds of Old Glory, an eloquet though silent, witness to the fact that he was called to the colors, that he answered the call, and that he has a part in Collins' immortal ode:
How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest;
When Spring with dewy fingers cold
Returns to seek their hallowed mold.
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fiery hands their kneel is rung;
By fiery hands their knell is sung;
Their honor comes, a Pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit there.
Steele, Mo.
DELSIE STEWART
The Pemiscot Argus - Caruthersville, Missouri - Thursday, August 25, 1921
Their silent tents are spred;
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivourae of the dead.
When our great country went to war; when America offered her best, the flower and chivalry of her young manhood, George volunteered, thus placing his life at the disposal of his country. And we cannot do those dear boys who were willing to make the supreme sacrifice too much honor. George was in Company B 35 division and was killed in the great battle of Argonne Forest, on September 29, 1918, at 6 o'clock in the evening. In two hours after George was killed, their company was relieved by the Wildcat Division. His body was buried in a lonely trench in France, until the great war ended. The body was returned to his parents and many friends Monday, August 15, when it was placed in the armory hall to await for the return of the National Home Guard from Sedalia. They and the Masons bore it gently to its last resting place, at Mt. Zion Cemetery, Wednesday.
In Flanders Field the graves of American soldiers are no more worthy tribute to American valor than are the graves of soldier boys who died in camp in America during the war, and in the homes of America as an aftermath of the terrible scourage of war, and as long as the Republic has loving women and patroitic men their heroes will not be forgotten.
George's death seems to us, who loved him, with our shortsightedness, a tragedy, but there are no accidents in the providence of God. If the dear father and mother, the sister and brother and the sorrowing friends will cling to the hand of One who is too wise to make a mistake, too good to be unkind, after awhile their broken hearts will be healed, and they can look up through their tears and say with God's tender smile of approval, "Thy will be done." Let us remember, "The Captain of our salvation was made perfect through suffering, for though He were a son, yet learned obedience by the things which He suffered." Let us think that as his comrade in arms stood silent guard by the dear boy's body in the casket, so we should stand silent guard by our friends in the hour of trial, knowing that:
Behind the dim unknown,
Sitteth God with the shadows,
Keeping watch above his own.
Taps has sounded for our soldier boy; the next reveille will be on the Eternal Camping Ground, when our Great Commander will call the roll; and since George had put his trust in this Captain of the unnumbered hosts of the blood-washed throng, he will be ready to answer, "Here."
We have laid George away as tenderly as we knew how, his casket wrapped in the folds of Old Glory, an eloquet though silent, witness to the fact that he was called to the colors, that he answered the call, and that he has a part in Collins' immortal ode:
How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest;
When Spring with dewy fingers cold
Returns to seek their hallowed mold.
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fiery hands their kneel is rung;
By fiery hands their knell is sung;
Their honor comes, a Pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit there.
Steele, Mo.
DELSIE STEWART
The Pemiscot Argus - Caruthersville, Missouri - Thursday, August 25, 1921
On fame's eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spred;
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivourae of the dead.
When our great country went to war; when America offered her best, the flower and chivalry of her young manhood, George volunteered, thus placing his life at the disposal of his country. And we cannot do those dear boys who were willing to make the supreme sacrifice too much honor. George was in Company B 35 division and was killed in the great battle of Argonne Forest, on September 29, 1918, at 6 o'clock in the evening. In two hours after George was killed, their company was relieved by the Wildcat Division. His body was buried in a lonely trench in France, until the great war ended. The body was returned to his parents and many friends Monday, August 15, when it was placed in the armory hall to await for the return of the National Home Guard from Sedalia. They and the Masons bore it gently to its last resting place, at Mt. Zion Cemetery, Wednesday.
In Flanders Field the graves of American soldiers are no more worthy tribute to American valor than are the graves of soldier boys who died in camp in America during the war, and in the homes of America as an aftermath of the terrible scourage of war, and as long as the Republic has loving women and patroitic men their heroes will not be forgotten.
George's death seems to us, who loved him, with our shortsightedness, a tragedy, but there are no accidents in the providence of God. If the dear father and mother, the sister and brother and the sorrowing friends will cling to the hand of One who is too wise to make a mistake, too good to be unkind, after awhile their broken hearts will be healed, and they can look up through their tears and say with God's tender smile of approval, "Thy will be done." Let us remember, "The Captain of our salvation was made perfect through suffering, for though He were a son, yet learned obedience by the things which He suffered." Let us think that as his comrade in arms stood silent guard by the dear boy's body in the casket, so we should stand silent guard by our friends in the hour of trial, knowing that:
Behind the dim unknown,
Sitteth God with the shadows,
Keeping watch above his own.
Taps has sounded for our soldier boy; the next reveille will be on the Eternal Camping Ground, when our Great Commander will call the roll; and since George had put his trust in this Captain of the unnumbered hosts of the blood-washed throng, he will be ready to answer, "Here."
We have laid George away as tenderly as we knew how, his casket wrapped in the folds of Old Glory, an eloquet though silent, witness to the fact that he was called to the colors, that he answered the call, and that he has a part in Collins' immortal ode:
How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest;
When Spring with dewy fingers cold
Returns to seek their hallowed mold.
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fiery hands their kneel is rung;
By fiery hands their knell is sung;
Their honor comes, a Pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit there.
Steele, Mo.
DELSIE STEWART
The Pemiscot Argus - Caruthersville, Missouri - Thursday, August 25, 1921
Their silent tents are spred;
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivourae of the dead.
When our great country went to war; when America offered her best, the flower and chivalry of her young manhood, George volunteered, thus placing his life at the disposal of his country. And we cannot do those dear boys who were willing to make the supreme sacrifice too much honor. George was in Company B 35 division and was killed in the great battle of Argonne Forest, on September 29, 1918, at 6 o'clock in the evening. In two hours after George was killed, their company was relieved by the Wildcat Division. His body was buried in a lonely trench in France, until the great war ended. The body was returned to his parents and many friends Monday, August 15, when it was placed in the armory hall to await for the return of the National Home Guard from Sedalia. They and the Masons bore it gently to its last resting place, at Mt. Zion Cemetery, Wednesday.
In Flanders Field the graves of American soldiers are no more worthy tribute to American valor than are the graves of soldier boys who died in camp in America during the war, and in the homes of America as an aftermath of the terrible scourage of war, and as long as the Republic has loving women and patroitic men their heroes will not be forgotten.
George's death seems to us, who loved him, with our shortsightedness, a tragedy, but there are no accidents in the providence of God. If the dear father and mother, the sister and brother and the sorrowing friends will cling to the hand of One who is too wise to make a mistake, too good to be unkind, after awhile their broken hearts will be healed, and they can look up through their tears and say with God's tender smile of approval, "Thy will be done." Let us remember, "The Captain of our salvation was made perfect through suffering, for though He were a son, yet learned obedience by the things which He suffered." Let us think that as his comrade in arms stood silent guard by the dear boy's body in the casket, so we should stand silent guard by our friends in the hour of trial, knowing that:
Behind the dim unknown,
Sitteth God with the shadows,
Keeping watch above his own.
Taps has sounded for our soldier boy; the next reveille will be on the Eternal Camping Ground, when our Great Commander will call the roll; and since George had put his trust in this Captain of the unnumbered hosts of the blood-washed throng, he will be ready to answer, "Here."
We have laid George away as tenderly as we knew how, his casket wrapped in the folds of Old Glory, an eloquet though silent, witness to the fact that he was called to the colors, that he answered the call, and that he has a part in Collins' immortal ode:
How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest;
When Spring with dewy fingers cold
Returns to seek their hallowed mold.
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fiery hands their kneel is rung;
By fiery hands their knell is sung;
Their honor comes, a Pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit there.
Steele, Mo.
DELSIE STEWART
The Pemiscot Argus - Caruthersville, Missouri - Thursday, August 25, 1921
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