There's an empty seat where the old folks meet, 
    When they offer their evening prayer, 
And a look forlorn, for the dear one gone, 
    As they gaze on his vacant chair. 
There's a silent grief finds never relief, 
    And a face whence the bloom has fled, 
And a maiden fair, in her beauty rare, 
    Who weeps for her lover -- dead. 
There's a lonely grave, where a soldier brave, 
    Lies asleep in the southern land, 
While a rusted gun still gleams in the sun, 
    On the parched and burning sand. 
There's a home above, where the good God's love, 
    Its perfection ever discloses -- 
Where the soldier is blest with eternal rest, 
    And his quiet spirit reposes.