Upon each honored grave for Memory’s sight;
Bowing heads in reverence,
Treading slow with muffled drums,
With tear-dimmed eye and sorrowful salute
And lowered standard—Right! Left! Right!
Every footfall of the past,
Every annual elapse,
The silent hearts and silent years no more,
Half-echo, mingle in that ghostly tread
And seem to swell the muster vast