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O'er the sweet, quiet homes in the silent grave-city, / Softly the dewdrops, the night-tears, fall; / Broadly about, like the wide arms of pity, / The silver-shot darkness lies over all.
Heroes, asleep 'neath the red-hearted rose-wreaths, / Leaf-crowned with honor, flower-crowned with rest, / Gently above you each moon-dripping bough breathes / A far-echoed whisper, "Sleep well; ye are blest."
Oh! never, as long as the heart pulses quicker / At the dear name of Country may yours be forgot; / Nor may we, till the last puny life spark shall flicker, / Your deeds from the tablets of Memory blot!
Spirits afloat in the night-shrouds that bound us, / Souls of the "Has-Been" and of the "To-Be,"
Keep the fair light of Liberty shining around us, / Till our souls may go back to the mighty soul-sea.
St. Johns, Mich., 1886 (Decoration Day).