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Rh Cover the hands that are resting, half-tired, Crossed on the bosom or low by the side; Hands to you, mother, in infancy thrown; Hands that you, father, close hid in your own; Hands where you, sister, when tried and dismayed, Hung for protection and counsel and aid; Hands that you, brother, for faithfulness knew; Hands that you, wife, wrung in bitter adieu. Bravely the cross of their country they bore, Words of devotion they wrote with their gore; Grandly they grasped for a garland of light, Catching the mantle of death-darkened night. Cover them over&mdash;yes, cover them over&mdash; Parent and husband and brother and lover; Clasp in your hearts these dead heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful flowers.

Cover the feet that, all weary and torn. Thither by comrades were tenderly borne; Feet that have trodden, through love-lighted ways, Near to your own in the old happy days; Feet that have pressed, in life&rsqquo;s opening morn, Roses of pleasure and Death&rsquo;s poisoned thorn. Swiftly they rushed to the help of the right. Firmly they stood in the shock of the fight; Ne&rsquo;er shall the enemy&rsquo;s hurrying tramp Summon them forth from their death-guarded camp, Ne&rsquo;er till Eternity&rsquo;s bugle shall sound. Will they come out from their couch in the ground. Cover them over&mdash;yes, cover them over&mdash; Parent and husband and brother and lover; Rough were the paths of those heroes of ours&mdash; Now cover them over with beautiful flowers. Cover the hearts that have beaten so high, Beaten with hopes that were born but to die; Hearts that have burned in the heat of the fray, Hearts that have yearned for the homes far away, Hearts that beat high in the charge's loud tramp, Hearts that low fell in the prison's foul damp. Once they were swelling with courage and will, Now they are lying all pulseless and still; Once they were glowing with friendship and love. Now their great souls have gone soaring above; Bravely their blood to the nation they gave. Then in their bosom they found them a grave. Cover them over&mdash;yes, cover them over&mdash; Parent and husband and brother and lover; Press to your hearts these dead heroes of ours, And cover them over with beautiful flowers. One there is sleeping in yonder low tomb. Worthy the brightest of flow&rsquo;rets that bloom. Weakness of womanhood&rsquo;s life was her part. Tenderly strung was her generous heart. Bravely she stood by the sufferer&rsquo;s side. Checking the pain and the life-bearing tide; Fighting the swift-sweeping phantom of Death, Easing the dying man&rsquo;s fluttering breath; Then, when the strife that had nerved her was o&rsquo;er, Calmly she went to where wars are no more. Voices have blessed her, now silent and dumb; Voices will bless her in long years to come. Cover her over&mdash;yes, cover her over&mdash; Blessings, like angels, around her shall hover; Cherish the name of that sister of ours. And cover her over with beautiful flowers.