A country’s solace for the slain to wrap him, ’round and ’round.
March on, and let your scabbards swing, your swords shall never rust;
Ride! Ride! ye belted horsemen! the sacrificial trust
Of bygone days is haloed by bayonet and scroll,
Where millions read a simple creed that binds a nation’s soul.
High on the walls of Heaven it crowns a lifting sky;
Hats off! ye peoples of the earth, America goes by!
Written on the return of the Plymouth Boys from the World War.
BURIAL HILL.
How many years have ripened, gone to seed, and died,