More blessed are the dead who fell
Beneath it in unfaltering trust,
Than we, who loved it passing well,
Yet lived to see it trail in dust.
It hath no future which endears,
And this farewell shall be our last:
Embalm it in a nation s tears,
And consecrate it to the past!
To moldering hands that to it clung,
And flaunted it in hostile faces,
To pulseless arms that round it flung,
The terror of their last embraces
To our dead heroes to the hearts
That thrill no more to love or glory,
To those who acted well their parts,
Who died in youth and live in glory -
With tears forever be it told,
Until oblivion covers all:
Until the heavens themselves wear old,
And totter slowly to their fall.
LINES ON A CONFEDERATE NOTE
Representing nothing on God s earth now, And naught in the waters below it, As the pledge of a nation that s dead and gone, Keep it, dear friend, and show it.
