It should be called by some other
name. But, like all other battles, it, too, has gone into history.
I leave it with you. I do not know who was to blame. It lives in the
memory of the poor old Rebel soldier who went through that trying and
terrible ordeal. We shed a tear for the dead. They are buried and
forgotten. We meet no more on earth. But up yonder, beyond the sunset
and the night, away beyond the clouds and tempest, away beyond the stars
that ever twinkle and shine in the blue vault above us, away yonder by
the great white throne, and by the river of life, where the Almighty
and Eternal God sits, surrounded by the angels and archangels and the
redeemed of earth, we will meet again and see those noble and brave
spirits who gave up their lives for their country's cause that night
at Franklin, Tennessee. A life given for one's country is never lost.
It blooms again beyond the grave in a land of beauty and of love.
Hanging around the throne of sapphire and gold, a rich garland awaits the
coming of him who died for his country, and when the horologe of time has
struck its last note upon his dying brow, Justice hands the record of
life to Mercy, and Mercy pleads with Jesus, and God, for his sake,
receives him in his eternal home beyond the skies at last and forever.
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