(Arlington, May 30, 1902.)
Roll, muffled drums, upon the air, and flags furl colors bright;
For this is hallowed ground we tread, and here we learn Death's might.
Our heroes, whose last rest is now within this silent spot,
In lowly tents their bivouac find, though not by us forgot.
Wail forth, oh music, in soft strains, and learn, oh soul of man,
As down the leafy aisles it throbs, how brief on earth the span
Of Life, and turn from its rude clash and all its weary pain,
To muse awhile on heroes gone and hear their praise again.
As words of orator now fall upon the listening ear,