The Unfallen Brave
Not all in sorrow and in tears,
To pay of gratitude’s arrears
The yearly sum—
Not prompted, wholly by the pride
Of those for whom their friends have died,
To-day we come.
Another aim we have in view
Than for the buried boys in blue
To drop a tear:
Memorial Day revives the chin
Of Barnes, and Salomon chimes in—
That’s why we’re here.
And when in after-ages they
Shall pass, like mortal men, away,
Their war-song sung,
Then fame will tell the tale anew
Of how intrepidly they drew
The deadly tongue.
Then cull white lilies for the graves
Of Liberty’s loquacious braves,
And roses red.
Those represent their livers, these
The blood that in unmeasured seas
They did not shed.