At the residence of his grandmother, on Oregon Hill, Charles T. Barnum, of wounds received near Petersburg; aged twenty-one years and eighteen days.
Fourt this , when life shall cease to thrill this heart of mine;
But not like then can I forget one look or tone of thine;
Oh no at mingles with the sound of everything I hear.
Forget this a bitter word; I would it were un
Forgetfulness is not with life, but the silent dead.
I may cease to think of thee as earthly morning
But, oh ! I’d meet my brother in heaven with heart unchanged and true.
Things we prize are first to vanish; hearts we love to pass away;
But my brother, thus slain in battle, grieves my from day to-day.
The noble crew, but mangled form, lies silent in the
His form now fills a christian soldier’s grave, in battle’s hour bespoke the true and
The bright, no longer fettered by earth’s in seven dwells — the glory of the father sleeps his last long sleep beneath Virginia in death’s cold grasp unnerved he rests every toll. Around him numbers lie, company in the strife, which chilled his manly heart away his life. He’s gone! The bright should guide the heart’s the falling tear. Life’s weary march to own his reward begun; the enemy of life is the won.
His will take place at the Methodist in Hill, Monday, the 17th, at four o’clock friends of the family are respectfully
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