In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won.
“No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever,
When they laurel the graves of our dead.
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Love and tears for the blue,
Tears and love for the gray.”—F. M. Finch.