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Rh Yea; from this sacred pile, in days gone by,

Brave men, to duty nobly dedicate,

Went forth to strive against despotic fate—

For liberty content to live—or die.

Some came not back; but some returned, victorious,—

Needing nor badge nor ribbon on the breast,—

To find here, by the little Church, their rest:

Heroes and martyrs lowly—yet how glorious!

Healed of all hurt, emparadised afar

Though they abide, yet to our reverent sight,

About their graves there lingers still a light

Which is not as the light of moon or star;

And very peaceful after stormy days,

And sturdy as the antique oaks remain,