Excerpt from A Tribute to the Memory of Sergent Abraham B. Savery: Of Co; I, Massachusetts Seventh Regiment, Died Dec, 16, 1863

We are gathered to-day in the discharge of a mournful duty. No more fitting words for us, could be found in all the precious Bible than David's lament at the burial of Jonathan more appropriate to the occasion which convenes us today._ Spoken originally at the grave of a soldier, by the soldier-king of Israel, they have a singular aptness now. David, the militant man of God, was called to bury his beloved friend. This older son of Saul was a princely man, worthy of the love of such a kingly soul as the noblest son of Judah - their affection was mutual, brave and undying. Their souls were knit together in the enduring bonds of love. No wonder then as the messenger from the battle-field came to tell of the death of Jonathan that the Hebrew King renthis clothes, mourned, fasted and wept. N o wonder in pronouncing his eulogy he uttered words of radiance and sorrow, at once the sweetest and the saddest that ever fell from human lips. I am. Distressed for thee, my brother J ouathan. Very pleasant hast thou been unto me thy love was wonderful - passing the love of woman.

Oh, Jonathan, thou and thy kingly father wert swifter than eagles, stronger than lions, lovely and pleasant in thy lives, and in death not divided. Then his grief became so great that he apostrophized nature Ye mountains of Grilboa, let there be no dew, neither let their be rain upon you, nor fields of tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askalon, lest the Philistines rejoice; oh ye daughters of Jerusalem weep, for the beauty of Israel is slain upon the mountains. For thirty months our land has been full of mourning - the lament is everywhere, and oh the mul titudes of shadowed homes and smitten hearts, bleeding and weeping for the slain beauty of our Israel. We have heard the muffled drum far away, and near too. Heart wails sounded in the distance like the dying of summer winds 011 the shore of the ocean. Anon the swelling tide of grief rolled in nearerand nearer, and the air grew dark, and the war blast louder and louder, till at last the billows have broken on the threshold of our homes, and we, afiieted brethren and friends, must take up this same chorus of woe. Ten a peasant dies, a few wrap him in his shroud and lay him in his rural rest, but when a Christian hero dies, the town, or the nation mourns loving friends, takihg up the lament, tenderly and son owfully bear him to liis burial. The death of the faithful Christian soldier who f1e ely g11 es his life for his country is no 01di11ary event, and demands of those who speak at his fune1al mo1e than common 11 ords of sympathy and love.

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