By the flow of the inland
river,
Whence the fleets of iron have
fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the
dead:
Under the sod and
the dew,
Waiting
the Judgment Day:
Under the one, the
Blue,
Under
the other, the Gray.
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 sunrays 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. |
 |
So, when the summer
calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and
the dew,
Waiting
the Judgment Day:
Wet with the rain,
the Blue,
Wet
with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done,
In the storm of the years that are fading
No braver battle was won:
Under the sod and
the dew,
Waiting
the Judgment Day:
Under the blossoms,
the Blue,
Under
the garlands, 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. |
