These in the robings of glory,

Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,

In the dusk of eternity meet:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the laurel, the Blue,

Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,

Lovingly laden with flowers

Alike for the friend and the foe:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the roses, the Blue,
Under the lilies the Gray.

So, with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,

On the blossoms blooming for all;
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue;
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

No more shall the war-cry sever,

Or the winding rivers be red;

They banish our anger forever

When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;

Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.

FRANCIS MILES FINCH.

MEMORIAL DAY, 1889

I.

Twine laurels to lay o'er the Blue and the Gray, spread wreaths where our heroes rest;

Let the song of the North echo back from the South for the love that is truest and best!

Twine wreaths for the tombs of our Grant and our Lee, one anthem for Jackson and Meade.

And the flag above you is the banner for me-one people in name and in deed!

II.

Clasp hands o'er the graves where our laurelled ones lieclasp hands o'er the Gray and the Blue;

To-day we are brothers and bound by a tie that the years shall but serve to renew;

By the side of the Northman who peacefully sleeps where tropical odors are shed

A son of the South his companionship keeps-one flag o'er the two heroes spread.

III.

Weave tokens of love for the heroes in blue, weave wreaths for the heroes in gray;

Clasp brotherly hands o'er the graves that are new-for the love that is ours to-day;

A trinity given to bless, to unite—three glorious records to keep,

And a kinship that never a grievance shall sever renewed where the brave are asleep!

IV.

Spread flowers to-day o'er the Blue and the Gray-spread wreaths where our heroes rest;

Let the song of the North echo back from the South for the love that is truest and best!

Twin wreaths for the tombs of our Grant and our Lee, one hymn for your father and mine!

Oh, the flag you adore is the banner for me and its folds our dead brothers entwine.

SAMUEL ELLSWORTH KISER.

MEMORIAL DAY

Gather the garlands rare to-day,
Snow-white roses and roses red;

Gather the fairest flowers of May,
Heap them up on the graves of clay,
Gladden the graves of the noble dead.

Pile them high as the soldiers were

Piled on the field when they fought and fell;

They will rejoice in their new place there
To-day, as they walk where the fragrant air
Is sweet with the scent of asphodel.

Many a time, I've heard it said,

They fell so thick where the battles were, Their hot blood rippled, and, running red, Ran out like a rill from the drifted dead

Staining the heath and the daisies there.

This day the friends of the soldiers keep,
And they will keep it through all the years,
To the silent city where soldiers sleep
Will come with flowers, to watch and weep
And water the garlands with their tears.

CY WARMAN.

A BALLAD OF HEROES

Because you passed, and now are not,
Because, in some remoter day,
Your sacred dust from doubtful spot
Was blown of ancient airs

away,-
Because you perished,-must men say
Your deeds were naught, and so profane

Your lives with that cold burden? Nay, The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

Though, it may be, above the plot
That hid your once imperial clay,
No greener than o'er men forgot
The unregarding grasses sway;
Though there no sweeter is the lay
Of careless birds,-though you remain
Without distinction of decay,—
The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

No. For while yet in tower or cot
Your story stirs the pulses' play;

And men forget the sordid lot

The sordid care, of cities gray;

While yet, beset in homelier fray, They learn from you the lesson plain That Life may go, SO Honor stay,The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

ENVOY.

Heroes of old! I humbly lay

The laurel on your graves again;
Whatever men have done, men may,—
The deeds you wrought are not in vain!

AUSTIN DOBSON

SOLDIER, REST!

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.

In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,

Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Dream of fighting fields no more:

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sounds shall reach thine ear,

Armor's clang, or war-steed champing,

Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.