firmly stand;" he answered, though his heart beat sore At leaving home, and kin, and one in whose fond eyes too late he read That life for her had but begun with the farewells he sadly said. A half a century has passed— and more—since all those myriads fell; For he was one of those who cast sweet life into a Battle's hell. The village has become a town, brick buildings the old graveyard gird; Of him who fought not for renown, no one now hears a spoken word, But on the Monument his name in gold is lettered with the rest. Without a sordid thought of fame he to his Country gave his best. Strew flowers, then, Memorial Day[2] for him, for all who for us fought. With speech and music honors pay; teach what our brave defenders taught. And now our sons are setting out; the call for Right rings to the sky, "Our Country! Freedom!" hear them shout, re-echoing their Grandsires' cry. 

needing nor words nor other prod

to tread the path his fathers trod.

with homely joys he decked his life;

nor take a part in cankering strife.

he sang of Peace and brotherly love,

they reached unmeasured heights above.

"Our Country calls, come, come, 'tis War;

he answered, though his heart beat sore

in whose fond eyes too late he read

with the farewells he sadly said.

and more—since all those myriads fell;

sweet life into a Battle's hell.

brick buildings the old graveyard gird;

no one now hears a spoken word,

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