A preacher come from Roarin' Crick to comfort 'em an' pray, 'Nd all the camp wuz present at the obsequies next day; A female teacher staged it twenty miles to sing a hymn, An' we jined her in the chorus,--big, husky men an' grim Sung "Jesus, Lover uv my Soul," an' then the preacher prayed, An' preacht a sermon on the death uv that fair blossom laid Among them other flowers he loved,--wich sermon set sech weight On sinners bein' always heeled against the future state, That, though it had been fashionable to swear a perfec' streak, There warn't no swearin' in the camp for pretty nigh a week! Last thing uv all, four strappin' men took up the little load An' bore it tenderly along the windin', rocky road, To where the coroner had dug a grave beside the brook, In sight uv Marthy's winder, where the same could set an' look An' wonder if his cradle in that green patch, long an' wide, Wuz ez soothin' ez the cradle that wuz empty at her side; An' wonder if the mournful songs the pines wuz singin' then Wuz ez tender ez the lullabies she'd never sing again, 'Nd if the bosom of the earth in wich he lay at rest Wuz half ez lovin' 'nd ez warm ez wuz his mother's breast. The camp is gone; but Red Hoss Mountain rears its kindly head, An' looks down, sort uv tenderly, upon its cherished dead; 'Nd I reckon that, through all the years, that little boy wich died Sleeps sweetly an' contentedly upon the mountain-side; That the wild-flowers uv the summer-time bend down their heads to hear The footfall uv a little friend they know not slumbers near; That the magpies on the sollum rocks strange flutterin' shadders make, An' the pines an' hemlocks wonder that the sleeper doesn't wake; That the mountain brook sings lonesomelike an' loiters on its way Ez if it waited for a child to jine it in its play. IN FLANDERS Through sleet and fogs to the saline bogs Where the herring fish meanders, An army sped, and then, 't is said, Swore terribly in Flanders: "--------!" "--------!" A hideous store of oaths they swore, Did the army over in Flanders! At this distant day we're unable to say What so aroused their danders; But it's doubtless the case, to their lasting disgrace, That the army swore in Flanders: "--------!" "--------!" And many more such oaths they swore, Did that impious horde in Flanders! Some folks contend that these oaths without end Began among the commanders, That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too, Swore terribly in Flanders: Twas "------------!" "--------" Why, the air was blue with the hullaballoo Of those wicked men in Flanders! But some suppose that the trouble arose With a certain Corporal Sanders, Who sought to abuse the wooden shoes That the natives wore in Flanders. Saying: "--------!" "--------"