ASLEEP ON THE FIELD OF FAME. 



W. II. NELSON. 



(To the heroes who fell in the attack on Santiago.) 



'Neath tropic palm frond's spreading shade 



And the tangle of chaparal, 

 Where the wild Bahama cyclones sweep 



And the Carib surges swell, 

 Our heroes lie. Though the hosts of war 



Rush past in smoke and flame, 

 Serene and tranquil these rest unmoved 



Asleep on the field of fame. 



Beneath the Northern oak and pine 



When the twilight weaves her spell, 

 When the cushat calls from the thicket dim 



Where the waiting echoes dwell, 

 Sad mothers weep and sisters mourn 



And sweethearts breathe each name 

 Of those who lie so far and still 



Asleep on the field of fame. 



We gave you up to God, beloved, 



And to sad humanity; 

 We sent you forth like plumed knights 



To conquer or to die; 

 We buckled on your stainless swords, 



We bless'd your banner's flame, 

 As now we bless you where you lie 



Asleep on the field of fame. 



America, lo! these our sons 



We give to thee with tears. 

 Oh, Cuba may thy children smile 



In all the coming years; 

 And when a thousand suns have touched 



Their graves with summer's flame, 

 Still hallowed be the dust which lies 



Asleep on the field of fame. 



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