Listen to the widow’s moan,
Children, too, must weep;
What to them can e’er atone
For the watch they keep?
Far away by lonely graves
Fragrant lilies bloom;
There our starry banner waves
O’er the soldier’s tomb.
* * * * *
But the living, down the years
Steadily they come,
Listen to the ringing cheers,
To the throbbing drum.
To the dirges wailing by
On the willing breeze,
How they swell and sob and die,
Over such as these.
Clear above that martial tread,
Sounds a bugle sweet,
Telling how they fought and bled;
Praising work complete.
Hail! ye comrades, honor crowned,
Moving on abreast,
To the final camping ground
And eternal rest.
SUNNY SKIES.
Who would have them always so?
Clouds must come and tempests blow.
We would sing a doleful tune
Were there not a rose in June,
See the willing drops come down
Chatter! patter! till the brown
Barren hill tops are as bright
As the stars that gem the night.
NOT A DAY.
There is not a day,
There is not an hour,
But carries away
Or offers us power.
Which is the better
The winner or loser?
To fortune a debtor,
Or fortune’s wise user?
To other men’s view,
Though steadily striving,
How little we do
Unless we are thriving.
The quaint artist Time
Close student of Duty,
Is a master sublime
In painting soul beauty.