AND now the long, long lines of the Nation's graves Grow longer; and the venerate slopes reveal The fresh spring turf gashed thick with tombs to seal So hang black garlands from the architraves Of all the capitols. The dying peal Of bugles wails their final Taps. So kneel And give the dead the due their virtue craves. Thank God, the olden sinew still is bred; The milk of American mothers still is sweet; The sword of Seventy-six is sharp and bright; The Flag still floats unblotted with defeat! But ah the blood that keeps its ripples red, The starry lives that keep its field alight; The pangs of women and the tears they've bled The Lord enlarge our spirits till we feel The greatness of these spirits upward fled. A kind of genius it has been that fed Them strength to be, above all passions, leal. They put aside the velvet for the steel, Left love, and hope, and ease at home; and sped To the wilderness of war and every dread. Their blood is mortar for our commonweal; Their deeds its decoration and its boast. So mix with dirges, triumph; smiles, with tears. Make sorrow perfect with exultant pride -- Our vanished armies have not truly died; They march to-day before the heavenly host; And history's veterans raise a storm of cheers, As the Yankee troops -- with glory armed and shod -- In Grand Review swing past the throne of God. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOOK OF MARTYRS by EMILY DICKINSON HIPPOLYTUS TEMPORIZES by HILDA DOOLITTLE RICH AND POOR; OR, SAINT AND SINNER by THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A BLACKBIRD by WALLACE STEVENS IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 115 by ALFRED TENNYSON |