Memorial Day by Joyce Kilmer
The bugle
echoes shrill and sweet,
But not of
war it sings to-day.
The road is
rhythmic with the feet
Of
men-at-arms who come to pray.
The roses
blossom white and red
On tombs
where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave
above the honored dead
And martial
music cleaves the sky.
Above their
wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
They kept
the faith and fought the fight.
Through
flying lead and crimson steel
They plunged
for Freedom and the Right.
May we,
their grateful children, learn
Their
strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went
through fire and death to earn
At last the
accolade of God.
In shining
rank on rank arrayed
They march,
the legions of the Lord;
He is their
Captain unafraid,
The Prince of
Peace...Who brought a sword.
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