Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand thy sword shall wield, UNDER THE STARS BY WALLACE RICE Tell me what sail the seas Ships, and ships' companies, Off to the wars. Steel are the ship's great sides, Steel are her guns, Swiftly she runs; Steel is the sailor's heart, Stalwart his arm, His the Republic's part Through cloud and storm. Tell me what standard rare Red for brave hearts that burn With liberty, White for the peace they earn Making men free, Stars for the Heaven above, Blue for the deep, Where, in their country's love, Heroes shall sleep. Tell me why on the breeze These banners blow? Ships, and ships' companies, Eagerly go Warring, like all our line, Freedom to friend Under this starry sign, True to the end. Fair is the Flag's renown, Sacred her scars, Sweet the death she shall crown Under the stars. SHERMAN 1 BY RICHARD WATSON GILDER Glory and honor and fame and everlasting laudation For our captains who loved not war, but fought for the life of the nation; Who knew that, in all the land, one slave meant strife, not peace; Who fought for freedom, not glory; made war that war might cease. Glory and honor and fame; the beating of muffled drums; The wailing funeral dirge, as the flag-wrapped coffin comes; Fame and honor and glory; and joy for a noble soul, For a full and splendid life, and laureled rest at the goal. Glory and honor and fame; the pomp that a soldier prizes; The league-long waving line as the marching falls and rises; Rumbling of caissons and guns; the clatter of horses' feet, And a million awe-struck faces far down the waiting 1 street. 1 By permission of the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin & Co. But better than martial woe, and the pageant of civic sorrow; Better than praise of to-day, or the statue we build to morrow; Better than honor and glory, and history's iron pen, Was the thought of duty done and the love of his fellow-men. OUR HONORED DEAD BY HENRY WARD BEECHER Oh, tell me not that they are dead-that generous host, that airy army of invisible heroes! They hover as a cloud of witnesses above this Nation. Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society, and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism? Every mountain and hill shall have its treasured name, every river shall keep some solemn title, every valley and every lake shall cherish its honored register; and till the mountains are worn out, and the rivers forget to flow-till the clouds are weary of replenishing springs, and the springs forget to gush, and the rills to sing, shall their names be kept fresh with reverent honors which are inscribed upon the book of National Remembrance! ROLL-CALL 66 BY NATHANIEL GRAHAM SHEPHERD Corporal Green!" the Orderly cried; From the lips of a soldier who stood near,- "Cyrus Drew!"-then a silence fell; This time no answer followed the call; Only his rear-man had seen him fall: Killed or wounded-he could not tell. There they stood in the failing light, These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the hillsides was splashed with blood, And down in the corn, where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew, And crimson-dyed was the river's flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side, 66 'Herbert Cline!"-At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing between them this Herbert Cline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. |