Not a vestige of blood stains the chalice,
On freedom's blest altar to-day,
Shed in wage of a battle of sorrow
'Mid the ranks of the Blue and the Gray;
Nay, only the impress of lillies
Sweet Peace hath so fervently twined
Around with its tenderest fingers
Evermore can the eye truly find.
Not a note of harsh discord re-echoes
Where shades of the willow droop low,
O'er the graves loyal footsteps are tracing
'Mid measures of Freedom that flow.
Nay, only sweet memory's music
Attuned ev'ry bosom to thrill
That bend once again over heroes
At rest 'neath the wave and the hill.
—ANNIE M. TOOHEY.
Troy Times. May 30, 1911: 4 col 3.