A Garland from the Gray

 

                                   I

WEEPING skies that would seem to deplore him
     Cast shadows on stars and on suns;
Drooped flags that are shivering o’er him
     To a far-rolling thunder of guns!
And great bells that rock the starred steeples
     And moan to the heavens above,
But dearer than all things—a people’s
     Devotion and love!

                                  II

O NORTHLAND and Southland far-sighing
     Your grief, in this hour unblest,
He died for his country, and dying
     Was folded in Love to her breast.
In the storm of battle he towered
     A beacon—a strength to the brave,
And Freedom, low-kneeling, has showered
     Her tears on his grave.

                                III

FALL, flags, o’er the sod where he’s lying;
     Moan, winds of the world, as ye sweep
Over States unto sad States replying,
     O’er oceans where deep calls to deep!
Clasp hands Time shall never dissever,
     Though Fate strike with wrath and with rod,
Where he rests in a world’s Love forever—
     In the great Peace of God!