World War II Casualty, Solon Miles Hayes, CA Pfc 511th Parachute Infantry.
Son of John and Lucille Hayes.
Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave,
A lonely, mossy mound;
And yet to hearts like mine and thine
It should be holy ground.
Speak softly, let no careless laugh,
No idle, thoughtless jest,
Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps
The hero in his rest.
For him no reveille will beat
When morning beams shall come;
For him, at night, no tattoo rolls
Its thunders from the drum.
Tread lightly! for a man bequeathed,
Ere laid beneath this sod,
His ashes to his native land,
His gallant soul to God.
Son of John and Lucille Hayes.
Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave,
A lonely, mossy mound;
And yet to hearts like mine and thine
It should be holy ground.
Speak softly, let no careless laugh,
No idle, thoughtless jest,
Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps
The hero in his rest.
For him no reveille will beat
When morning beams shall come;
For him, at night, no tattoo rolls
Its thunders from the drum.
Tread lightly! for a man bequeathed,
Ere laid beneath this sod,
His ashes to his native land,
His gallant soul to God.
World War II Casualty, Solon Miles Hayes, CA Pfc 511th Parachute Infantry.
Son of John and Lucille Hayes.
Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave,
A lonely, mossy mound;
And yet to hearts like mine and thine
It should be holy ground.
Speak softly, let no careless laugh,
No idle, thoughtless jest,
Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps
The hero in his rest.
For him no reveille will beat
When morning beams shall come;
For him, at night, no tattoo rolls
Its thunders from the drum.
Tread lightly! for a man bequeathed,
Ere laid beneath this sod,
His ashes to his native land,
His gallant soul to God.
Son of John and Lucille Hayes.
Tread lightly, 'tis a soldiers grave,
A lonely, mossy mound;
And yet to hearts like mine and thine
It should be holy ground.
Speak softly, let no careless laugh,
No idle, thoughtless jest,
Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps
The hero in his rest.
For him no reveille will beat
When morning beams shall come;
For him, at night, no tattoo rolls
Its thunders from the drum.
Tread lightly! for a man bequeathed,
Ere laid beneath this sod,
His ashes to his native land,
His gallant soul to God.
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