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more than a reunited realm. The material effect of what they did is shown in the fact that the same flag flies from the Great Lakes to the Rio Grande, and all the people of the United States are richer because they are one people and not many, because they belong to one great nation, and not to a contemptible knot of struggling nationalities.

But besides this, besides the material results of the Civil War, we are all, North and South, incalculably richer for its memories. We are the richer for each grim campaign, for each hard-fought battle. We are the richer for valor displayed alike by those who fought so valiantly for the right, and by those who, no less valiantly, fought for what they deemed the right. We have in us nobler capacities for what is great and good because of the infinite woe and suffering, and because of the splendid ultimate triumph.

DECORATION DAY

BY E. P. THWING

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“Wave the flag once more before my eyes!” said a dying color-bearer as he found himself sinking into the last sleep. “The dear old flag never touched the ground,” said another soldier sinking on the ramparts of Wagner. To them the starry folds of the bunting they bore were an emblem of an undivided country, a symbol of glory and honor dearer to them than life itself. Such is the inspiring influence of intelligent,

heroic loyalty. It is far nobler than mere physical hardihood, purer than the selfish sentiment of personal friendship, and therefore a more enduring and transforming power. Keep, then, the flag of the nation waving before our eyes; in other words, make conspicuous the principles of which it is the emblazonry, fealty to truth, to honor, to liberty and law. Let partisan zeal and mere personal aggrandizement be forgotten in the pursuit of the highest aims. Let the spirit of Abraham Lincoln be ours, who, in 1858-standing at Alton, where Lovejoy had fallen a martyr to freedom—said, “Think nothing of me; take no thought

for the political fate of any man whatsoever, but come back to the truths that are in the Declaration of Independence. You may do anything with me you choose, if you will but heed these sacred principles. You may not only defeat me for the Senate, but you may take me and put me to death! I am nothing. Judge Douglas is nothing; but do not destroy that immortal emblem of humanity--the Declaration of Independence.

It is with prophetic ken when, at Philadelphia, he reasserts his fealty to this same supreme law: “If this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say I would be assassinated on the

Ι spot!Then he repeated again his calm, serious, intelligent consecration to the cause of Liberty and Union in these closing words: “I have said nothing but what I am willing to live by, and, if it be the pleasure of the Almighty God, to die by!

That was heroism, lofty, sublime, godlike heroism. It was grander far than the heroism of the battlefield, where mere brutal courage plays an important part;

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where revenge is sometimes fired by pain and sight of blood; where there is the wild enthusiasm of numbers massed under the lead of magnetic men; where there are thrilling battle-songs poured forth from bearded lips, joined with clang of cymbals, blare of tặumpets, beat of drum; and where, amid booming cannon, ringing saber, and rattling shell, the soldier forgets fatigue, pain, even life itself, in the delirium of the hour. This defiance of death is heroic; this valor, audacity, and gallantry, worthy of praise; but it ranks lower than this serene quietude of soul that is born of humble, holy faith, which sustains one without these added supports.

Our hero-dead are lying in a thousand burial-places from Maine to Louisiana. Peace reigns. But is there not still an unended contest of ideas? Are not the great tutelar forces of a Christian civilization in earnest conflict with hostile influences? Have we been wholly victorious over partisan hatred, the prejudice of caste, of color, and of clan? Can any party show a wholly clean record ? Its leaders a purely disinterested and patriotic purpose ? Are there no ominous tendencies at work in the rapid growth of our material wealth and in the importation of alien and destructive elements ?

We have scattered our floral tributes to-day over the graves of the patriotic dead. These frail mementos of affection will soon wither, but let not the memory of these martyrs fail to inspire in us a purer, holier life! The roll-call brings to mind their faces and their deeds. They were faithful to the end. The weary march, the bivouac, the battle are still re

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membered by the survivors. But your line, comrades, is growing slenderer every year. One by one you will drop out of the ranks, and other hands may ere long strew your grave with flowers as you have done to-day in yonder cemetery. When mustered in the last grand review, with all the veterans and heroes of earth, may each receive with jubilant heart the Great Commander's admiring tribute “Well done!” and become with Him partaker of a felicity that is enduring and triumphant!

ODE FOR DECORATION DAY

BY THEODORE P. COOK

They sleep so calm and stately,

Each in his graveyard bed,
It scarcely seems that lately
They trod the fields blood-red,

With fearless tread.

They marched and never halted,

They scaled the parapet,
The triple lines assaulted,
And paid without regret

The final debt.

The debt of slow accruing

A guilty nation made,
The debt of evil-doing,
Of justice long delayed,-

'Twas this they paid.

On fields where Strife held riot,

And Slaughter fed his hounds, Where came no sense of quiet, Nor any gentle sounds,

They made their rounds.

They wrought without repining,

Till, weary watches o'er,
They passed the bounds confining
Our green, familiar shore,

Forevermore.

And now they sleep so stately,

Each in his graveyard bed,
So calmly and sedately
They rest, that once I said:

These men are dead.

They know not what sweet duty

We come each year to pay, Nor heed the blooms of beauty, The garland gifts of May,

Strewn here to-day.

“The night-time and the day-time,

The rise and set of sun,
The winter and the May-time,
To them whose work is done,

Are all as one.”

Then o'er mine eyes there floated

A vision of the Land

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