MEMORIAL DAY.
We have been to the graves of our heroes to-day,And over their loved forms have scatteredOur memorial of flowers—sweet blossoms of May;While we wept o’er the fond hopes thus shattered.We wept as we thought of the blood that was shed,And our hearts thrilled with saddest emotionAs we thought of the loved ones now silent and dead,Who, filled with the fire of devotion,Left all that was dear to engage in the strife,At the call of their country and nation;All honor to each who laid down his life,Whether lowly or high was his station.All honor to husband, and father, and son,Who fought against wrong and oppression;Let us ever remember, the victory they won,Gave us liberty for our possession.Ah! ’tis meet that a day of Memorial like this,To these dear martyred ones should be given;Though it cause us to weep for the forms that we miss,And sigh for the fond ties thus riven.’Tis meet that we gather the choicest of flowers,And twine them with fond loving fingers,To lay on the graves of these heroes of oursWhere affection so sacredly lingers.
We have been to the graves of our heroes to-day,And over their loved forms have scatteredOur memorial of flowers—sweet blossoms of May;While we wept o’er the fond hopes thus shattered.We wept as we thought of the blood that was shed,And our hearts thrilled with saddest emotionAs we thought of the loved ones now silent and dead,Who, filled with the fire of devotion,Left all that was dear to engage in the strife,At the call of their country and nation;All honor to each who laid down his life,Whether lowly or high was his station.All honor to husband, and father, and son,Who fought against wrong and oppression;Let us ever remember, the victory they won,Gave us liberty for our possession.Ah! ’tis meet that a day of Memorial like this,To these dear martyred ones should be given;Though it cause us to weep for the forms that we miss,And sigh for the fond ties thus riven.’Tis meet that we gather the choicest of flowers,And twine them with fond loving fingers,To lay on the graves of these heroes of oursWhere affection so sacredly lingers.
We have been to the graves of our heroes to-day,And over their loved forms have scatteredOur memorial of flowers—sweet blossoms of May;While we wept o’er the fond hopes thus shattered.
We have been to the graves of our heroes to-day,
And over their loved forms have scattered
Our memorial of flowers—sweet blossoms of May;
While we wept o’er the fond hopes thus shattered.
We wept as we thought of the blood that was shed,And our hearts thrilled with saddest emotionAs we thought of the loved ones now silent and dead,Who, filled with the fire of devotion,
We wept as we thought of the blood that was shed,
And our hearts thrilled with saddest emotion
As we thought of the loved ones now silent and dead,
Who, filled with the fire of devotion,
Left all that was dear to engage in the strife,At the call of their country and nation;All honor to each who laid down his life,Whether lowly or high was his station.
Left all that was dear to engage in the strife,
At the call of their country and nation;
All honor to each who laid down his life,
Whether lowly or high was his station.
All honor to husband, and father, and son,Who fought against wrong and oppression;Let us ever remember, the victory they won,Gave us liberty for our possession.
All honor to husband, and father, and son,
Who fought against wrong and oppression;
Let us ever remember, the victory they won,
Gave us liberty for our possession.
Ah! ’tis meet that a day of Memorial like this,To these dear martyred ones should be given;Though it cause us to weep for the forms that we miss,And sigh for the fond ties thus riven.
Ah! ’tis meet that a day of Memorial like this,
To these dear martyred ones should be given;
Though it cause us to weep for the forms that we miss,
And sigh for the fond ties thus riven.
’Tis meet that we gather the choicest of flowers,And twine them with fond loving fingers,To lay on the graves of these heroes of oursWhere affection so sacredly lingers.
’Tis meet that we gather the choicest of flowers,
And twine them with fond loving fingers,
To lay on the graves of these heroes of ours
Where affection so sacredly lingers.