Camp Fire Memorial Day And Other Poems

n hundred years before, A tiny tendril springing by the lonely cabin door ; 'Twas sown in fears, 'twas wet with tears, till, lo, it burst in view, The symbol of a Nation's hopes ? the Red, the White, the Blue. Ah, not in anger, not in strife, we come with laden hands ; The crimson retinues of War are off in other lands;We bring the blossoms we have nursed to shed their honeyed breath Where erst the reeling ranks of wrath unbarred the gates of death; We lift the dear dead faces of our heroes to the light, We raise the pallid hands of theirs, we clasp and hold them tight; We say : O brothers, rise and see the Peace you helped to woo, Whose snowy pinions hover o'er the Red, the White, the Blue. Not yours, O silent comrades, the ecstacy of strife, The haughty exaltation that rounds the hero's life ; Not yours the flash of sabers, the shouts of the advance, The gleam of thrusting bayonets that shiver as they glance; Not yours upon the parapet your banner to unfurl, To die with victory on your lips, as back your feet they hurl ; The whisper of a kindling hope, while gaily over The silken folds are dancing out ? the Red, the White, the Blue. Nay, to your homesick vision the mask of Death was up, His icy breath was round you, his draught was in the cup ; A terror walks at noonday ; the dreams that throng the night But take the wings of morning and vanish ere the light. But oh, our fallen heroes,...