Contents

Over the broad, fair valley,
Filling the heart with fear,
Comes the sound of tramping horses,
And the news of danger near.

'Tis the enemy approaching,
One can hear the muffled drum,
And the marching of the soldiers,
As on and on they come.

Soon the air is rent in sunder,
Bullets flying sharp and fast,
Many stout hearts fail and tremble,
Every moment seems their last.

On the ground lie dead and dying,
Young and old alike must fall;
None to come and aid the sufferer,
Fight they must for freedom's call.

Many are the anxious loved ones
Praying for the war to cease,
Waiting for the right to conquer,
Bringing freedom, rest, and peace.

E.S.

Illustrations

SPYING ON INDIANS°

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SPYING ON INDIANS°