Oh that war!

Oh that Civil War that paid tribute to true courage whenever found, even in 48 lines from the poem "The Old Canteen," which concludes: "Then away in some garret the cobweb may screen/ My battered, old, cloth-covered,tin canteen."

Oh that Civil War after which no military service was forgotten. The Sons of Veterans, the Grand Army of the Republic, the Ladies Aid society, all felt that the glory of a nation was its young man and to perpetuate the memory of veterans, local organizations ( which became national) were formed to foster these 2 principles: 1. A firm belief and trust in Almighty God, and a recognition of His beneficent guidance in the preservation of the life and integrity of the Nation. 2. True allegiance to the Government of the United States of America, a respect for and fidelity to its Constitution and laws, and opposition to any system or power that in any manner tends to impair the efficiency and permanency of our National Union.

Oh,in that Civil War when 3 million, three hundred thousand patriots left home to defend the flag of Union. (300,000 from Ohio, my home state, 3rd largest contingent). Over 107 battle were fought, which did not include occupations, assaults, captures, sieges, repulsions, raids, invasions, attacks, bombardments, massacres or surrenders.

Oh that Civil War when a chronicler of camp-fire chats could wonderfully describe a normal spring when: "The man of brainwork and the man of business each again could brush back the ruffled locks from his forehead and, drawing a long breath, plainly see his blessed vacation in the distance of a short month or so; while the rested burly plowman could husk himself from his winter haunts, circulate in the fresh, free air of an American field, and bend to his labor in the full hope of a beautiful and abundant harvest."

Oh that Civil War and subsequent years when it was still possible to gather round a camp-fire and swell the chorus in
A HYMN OF PEACE
The echoes of war now have traveled
The valleys the last time for aye;
And the hills and the forests are silent,
As the Angel of Peace wanders by;-

While the unknown now sleep where they suffered-
In the land where brave charges they led;
Where the moss droops her tendrils in mourning,
And the mocking bird sings to the dead.

Unmarked are the mounds where they slumber,
Their names are unsung and unwept;
But their deeds are not lost nor forgotten,
For they're to eternity kept.

And while nature's monuments freshen,
In merry spring over each grave
Of the loyal sons of the nation,
May her emblem in gratitude wave.

And, too, while the bosom of ocean
Bears the harvests away on her tide,
May the olive branch bend in the sunshine,
And brotherhood ever abide.

Then let all the hearts that are heave,
Be cheered by the smile of the glad,
And every one who may be happy,
Make happy all those who are sad.