Violets and Other Tales/Chalmetle

Wreaths of lilies and immortelles, Scattered upon each silent mound, Voices in loving remembrance swell, Chanting to heaven the solemn sound. Glad skies above, and glad earth beneath; And grateful hearts who silently Gather earth's flowers, and tenderly wreath Woman's sweet token of fragility.

Ah, the noble forms who fought so well Lie, some unnamed, 'neath the grassy mound; Heroes, brave heroes, the stories tell, Silently too, the unmarked mounds, Tenderly wreath them about with flowers, Joyously pour out your praises loud; For every joy beat in these hearts of ours Is only a drawing us nearer to God.

Little enough is the song we sing, Little enough is the tale we tell, When we think of the voices who erst did ring Ere their owners in smoke of battle fell. Little enough are the flowers we cull To scatter afar on the grass-grown graves, When we think of bright eyes, now dimmed and dull For the cause they loyally strove to save.

And they fought right well, did these brave men, For their banner still floats unto the breeze, And the pæans of ages forever shall tell Their glorious tale beyond the seas. Ring out your voices in praises loud, Sing sweet your notes of music gay, Tell me in all you loyal crowd Throbs there a heart unmoved to-day?

Meeting together again this year, As met we in fealty and love before; Men, maids, and matrons to reverently hear Praises of brave men who fought of yore. Tell to the little ones with wondering eyes, The tale of the flag that floats so free; Till their tiny voices shall merrily rise In hymns of rejoicing and praises to Thee.

Many a pure and noble heart Lies under the sod, all covered with green; Many a soul that had felt the smart Of life's sad torture, or mayhap had seen The faint hope of love pass afar from the sight, Like swift flight of bird to a rarer clime Many a youth whose death caused the blight Of tender hearts in that long, sad time.

Nay, but this is no hour for sorrow; They died at their duty, shall we repine? Let us gaze hopefully on to the morrow Praying that our lives thus shall shine. Ring out your bugles, sound out your cheers! Man has been God-like so may we be. Give cheering thanks, there dry up those tears, Widowed and orphaned, the country is free!

Wreathes of lillies and immortelles, Scattered upon each silent mound, Voices in loving remembrance swell, Chanting to heaven the solemn sound, Glad skies above, and glad earth beneath, And grateful hearts who silently Gather earth's flowers, and tenderly wreath Woman's sweet token of fragility.