Beadle's Dime Novels No. 13 — page 97: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE GRAVES QF THE PATRIOTS. 33 No art to make them known. They live in us, While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold, Worshiping nothing but our own pure hearts, And the one universal Lord. They need No column pointing to the heaven they sought, © To tell us of their home. The heart itself, . _ Left to its own free purpose, hastens there, And there alone reposes. Let these elms Bend their protecting shadow o’er their graves, And build with their green roof the only fane. » Where we may gather on the hallowed day That rose to them in blood, and set in glory. Here let us meet, and while our motionless lips Give not a sound, and all around is mute In the deep sabbath of a heart too full For words or tears, here let us strew the sod With the first flowers of spring, and make to them An offering of the plenty Nature gives, And they have rerdered ours—perpetually. commiclbooks.com