Memorial Day.
Margaret Sidney.
A little window-garden plot,
Blooming in dusty street,
Adown which poured the travel
Of many weary feet;
A cheery spot of brightness
Blooming for all to see.
Oh, that was Blossom’s garden-bed,
Who loved it tenderly.
At morn, at noon, at even,
She dealt out faithful care;
And many buds and flowerets sweet
Came out with fragrance rare.
And now, this May-day morning,
She stood in wealth of bloom
That beautified and perfumed all
The quaint, old-fashioned room.
When suddenly the door was thrown
Ajar, and there stood Ray.
“Give us your flowers, do, Blossom, do,
For Decoration Day.”
She looked around with pretty flush
Of hurt surprise: “Ah, no;
You know not what you ask, if you
Would wish to rob me so.”
“To rob you?” Master Ray in scorn
Flashed out, then turned away;
“The soldiers gave their all for you:
You owe them flowers to-day.”
“I ‘owe them flowers.’ Ah, true, indeed!
Dear brother, please forgive.
Those brave men died on battle-fields
That we at home might live;
And I not lay a flower upon
Their graves in memory sweet!
Oh, selfish heart! I have to mourn
Ingratitude complete.
Forgive me, Lord. They shall have all;
Yes, glad I am to make
My buds and blossoms into wreaths
For those dear patriots’ sake.”
The May-day sun shone brilliantly;
All Nature smiled to see
The honors given to those who died
In the cause of Liberty;
But the sweetest gift from loving hands
Was the bud, and flower, and spray,
From the little child who gave her all
On that Memorial Day.