When the crimson rose of triumph
Deepens proudly o'er the way
Where our fallen braves are sleeping
'Neath the waves or daisied clay,
Thro' the starlit aisles of even,
Girt in clouds of azure fleece,
Shall in tenderness descending
Steal the blessed form of Peace!
Let us ope our hearts in welcome
As she hovers 'round our dead,
Swordless, yet with step unfearing,
Sighing o'er their lifeblood shed.
Let us wave her stainless banners
Joyfully around the way
Where the light of love and pity
Rifts the clouds of battle-sway.
—ANNIE M. TOOHEY.
Troy Times. May 30, 1901: 2 col 3.
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