Truly all the world a sanctuary blessed is to-day,
And every soldier grave a shrine enwreathed in flowers of May,
And each soft breeze a Psalmist wafting forth a dulcet strain,
In homage unto braves who fell on crimsoned wave and plain.
Some shed their sacred lifeblood in grim conflicts long ago,
Aye to sunder cruel fetters and to slavery overthrow;
Some crossed o'er surging billows unto far, far distant lands
To lend their treasured banners unto pleading alien hands.
Some homeward came unto us from the wreckage sad of war,
Yet enduring—aye, and hiding—oft a bleeding would or scar,
Some are sleeping 'neath the flowers—some we never more shall see
Until gleam before our vision soul-ranks of eternity.
Yet there are sad hearts that miss them and lone comrades that remain,
To retrace their sacred ashes gathered unto mound and main,
Heroes whose brave deeds of valor wrought in words of purest gold
Gleam to-day 'mid Memory's treasures for our proud eyes to behold.
ANNIE M. TOOHEY.
Troy Times. May 28, 1921: 4 col 4.