They shall speak to our souls, and new fire through the veins of our patriots shall run.
Wail orphans—weep sisters—look upward, sad mothers and desolate wives;
But mourn not as those without comfort the loss of the sanctified lives.
Can you mourn unconsoled for their taking, though your heads may in anguish be bowed,
With a nation's tears falling above them, their country's flag draped for their shroud?
As the blood of the martyr enfruitens his creed, so the hero sows peace,
And the reaping of war's deadly harvest is the earnest his havoc shall cease.
If the seed sown in blood you must water with tears, shrink not back from the cost;
What they gave ungrudging for honor you have lent to your country, not lost.
And forgive us, who bear not your burden of pain and who share not your pride,