Alas, how can we help but mourn When hero bosoms yield their breath! A century itself may bear But once the flower of such a death.
Green sods are all their monument; and yet it tells A nobler history than pillared piles, Or the eternal pyramids.
But fame is theirs - and future days On pillar'd brass shall tell their praise; Shall tell - when cold neglect is dead - "These for their country fought and bled."
Knights of the spirit; warriors in the cause Of justice absolute 'twixt man and man.
Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.
This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave.
Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth.
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