AT VALLEY FORGE. 
npHE song of birds floats on the air, 
And bees are drowsily a-wing ; 
The orchards, white with blossoms, fling 
Cool shadows on the grassy ground 
Warm with the pulses of the spring ; 
And little children play around 
The rusted cannon of the king. 
By that grim mouth which once belched deaths 
But now has known of war surcease 
These hundred years, the violets nod ; 
And dandelions light the sod 
Once dark with blood of men. Dear God, 
We thank thee for the day of peace. 
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