All this you did, your courage strong upon you,
And out of ashes, wreck, a new land rose,
Through years of war no braver battle won you,
'Gainst fiercer foes.
And now to-day a prospered land is cheering
And lifting up her voice in lusty pride
For you gray men, who fought and wrought, not fearing
Battle's red tide.
Our rear guard, ye whose step is slowing, slowing,
Whose ranks, earth-thinned, are filling otherwhere,
Who wore the gray—the gray, alas! still showing
On bleaching hair.
For forty years you've watched this land grow stronger,
For forty years you've been its bulwark, stay;
Tarry awhile; pause yet a little longer
Upon the way.
And set our feet where there may be no turning,
And set our faces straight on duty's track,
Where there may be for stray, strange goods no yearning
Nor looking back.
And when for you the last tattoo has sounded,
And on death's silent field you've pitched your tent,
When, bowed through tears, the arc of life has rounded
To full content,
We that are left will count it guerdon royal,
Our heritage no years can take away,
That we were born of those, unflinching, loyal,
Who wore the gray.
Irene Fowler Brown.
The bitterness which the great struggle had engendered gradually gave place to a kindlier feeling. As early as 1867, the women of Columbus, Miss., decorated alike the graves of Confederate and Union soldiers, an action which was the first of many such.