Picnic on the Battlefield
It’s when I saw the Battlefield
My soul began to feel
The angry drum, the ancient wrath
The weapons stone and steel
The glory of a former time
When wars were won and lost
Upon the breast of Mother Earth
Men’s blood the holy cost
And through the passage of the years
We picnic at the field
Where warrior fighting warrior
Would not falter nor would yield
Their bones are mingled in the lawn
Where children play their games
No one recalls their mighty deeds
Nor even knows their names
Yet on this field of battle once
Heroic acts were done
Where now we break our bread today
So many died so young
And since we don’t know who they were
Or even how or why
Those unknown men so long ago
Would choose this place to die
It makes me wonder what the cause
For each to die so brave
For their home or from their heart
Or fear to be a slave?
But now we see a child play
Where once a warrior fought
Our joy today the price he paid
For land so dearly bought
— John W.M. Sisson, Nashville
