To sound of muffled drums to-day,
With slow and solemn tread;
The soldiers march with banners draped
Where dwell heroic dead.
The blue, the gray of this fair realm
Assemble o’er this land,
Recount the deeds of valiant men
As one vast mourning band.
The rich, the poor, the high, the low,
Observe this sacred day.
For all alike in days gone by
Have laid some friend away.
For death the mighty reaper comes
To rich as well as poor.
Unwelcome guest though he may be,
He comes to every door.
To deck the graves of dear loved ones
Beneath luxuriant bow’rs,
Countless willing loving hands
Pluck nature’s tender flow’rs.
The tokens of a reverent love
For friends of that blest vale,
A love the ravages of time
Can never change nor pale.
This day recalls much of the past—
The nation’s bloody wars,
The sacrifice of noble lives—
To make dominant the stripes and stars.
In philosophic narrative,
In eulogy and praise,
In honor of heroic dead
The speaker’s voice doth raise.
And for the country’s honor fought
The black man once a slave.
Encouched within the history’s folds
The statement, “he was brave!”
Within the marching ranks to-day
Are remnants of the freed
Who fought and bled upon the field
When ’twas the country’s need.
