Their pale pink blossoms wave
O’er lowly mounds, where rest beneath
Our martyrs in their grave.
In white and gold the daisies shine
All o’er encampment hill;
There wild-rose and the Columbine
Lift glistening banners still.
Here plumy ferns, an emerald fringe,
Adorn our stream’s bright way;
And soft grass whence the violet springs,