MEMORIAL x OR .A. POEM «£crrwW> Faunded on Facts MEMDRLRL EECDRATIQN EAY A POEM FOUNDED ON FACTS. y PRESENTED WITH COMPLIMENTS. To *y m 7?<7 W • Ml COPYRIGHT 1891, Ey ceorce loomis. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PREFATORY. The tale is an original one. founded on an incident oi actual occurrence— a simple touching story, portraying good and charitable impulses acted out under circum- stances where bitter prejudices and strong feelings would naturally tend to stifle them. It is no apology for the Rebellion, nor any paliation oi its enormities. The lesson it teaches is that hitter animosi- ties however well founded ought, so far as they relate to individuals, to terminate at the grave. ••When cold in the grave lies the friend thou hast loved, Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then. But if from their slumber the vail he removed, Weep o'er them in silence and < lose it again." A PDEM >rpWAS balmy morning in the month <>l May, The golden sun-light gleamed o'er hill and dale And kissed the sparkling dew-drops .is they lay Profusely sprinkled on the flowery vale — Till one by one they hid their glittering eyes Bade earth adieu, and vanished to the skies Thus dawned the morning in the month ol .May. Thus nature welcomed "Decoration Day." /""^ RIM war had erased, its ghastly wounds u < re healed. Its banners furled— and mighty armies fled, But here and there its relies were revealed In shattered walls and eities ol the dead; And mourning ones that wandered to and fro In vestments dark and countenance of woe. These were the records Time had nol effaced That ruthless war in fire and blood had traced. Near yonder hill where grave-stones thickly stand Amid the grove that shields them from the eye Where runs the silvery brooklet o'er tin- sand With ceaseless murmer as it passes b) Where earliest flowerets greel the coming Spring And parting day-lighl last is lingering Rest Patriot martyrs neath the hallowed so<| Who gave their lives to Liberty and God. r pHlTHER the sad procession wends its way, Widows and orphans mingling in the train While tattered banners, battle-scared betray Mow brothers hate when war's fierce passions reign. Oh may such hatred never more return But in its stead may Love's pure incense burn May sweet Forgiveness like the flowers ye bring Yield perfume to the heart, and cause perennial Spring Though vast this City of the fallen brave The living Friends with pious care bestow A floral offering upon every grave Moist with affections tears as if to show The risen Spirits fondly lingering near How cherished yet, their memory — and how dear The sacred spot where rests the earthly form Securely now from battle's raging storm. TTVVCH grave was decked with wreaths of buds ■-■'• flowers, The fittest tribute to the honored dead — To those who battled for these homes of ours And precious blood on Freedom's altar shed. One mound there was remote from all the rest No pathway toward it, by no hand carressnl None cared for this — and none a tribute irave, All turned away — for 'twas a "Rebel's Grave." Amid the throng a little girl was seen Wending her footsteps towards the lonely mound The grass upon it, was as fresh and green As that which grew on consecrated ground "Tis true" she said "that others seem to scorn This one lone grave so friendless and forlorn But I will go and strew with little flowers What God baptised with sunshine and with showers. HP HE tender tribute which pure childhood gave Called forth rebuke from some who stood anear "Why scatter roses on a Rebel's Grave Twas not for this, that we assembled here." The girl looked up in innocent surprise Through tear-drops gathering in her hazel eyes At length in faltering accents she replied To those who would her noble motives chide: "My own dear Father was a soldier too, Far in the Sunn)' South he marched away With friends and comrades dressed in Union Blue To meet the Rebel enemy in Gray. He kissed his darling — told me not to cry, "When will you come," I said, he answered "by and by' But O he'll never Come ! for he was slain And now lies buried on the battle plain. TDERHAPS some little southern girl will go And deck poor Papa's grave with Sunny flowers And oh ! how happy I would be to know- That it was cared for as we care for ours And if she should — I could not love the one Who blamed her for so kind an action done. Hard is the heart and cruel, that denies A single flower where buried Papa lies." "And who can tell but in that distant land Some little orphan girl like me, has cried Because no Father takes her by the hand And now she knows not when nor where he died It may be true, that in this very spot. Neglected here avoided and forgot The father of my unknown sister lies For whom she nightly prays, and grieves, and cries. TT7HILE gazing here I heard an Angel say "On yon lone mound, thy prettiest roses strew, Then on thy Father's Grave — so faraway I'll cause some hand to do the same for you." "Sweet Angel voice--I hastened to obey My heart was happy and I could not stay — Dear Orphan friend whom God to me has given I'll love and clasp her when we meet in Heaven." The simple story of the orphan child Moved many hearts to tenderness and tears The Angel-impulse they at first reviled All see anew — and every heart reveres. These holy accents uttered by the tongue Of one so stricken — beautiful and young Seemed a new law of Charity and Love, Revealed all pure from brighter realms above-. OUCCEEDING seasons came and passed away— The annual offerings to the dead were made; At each return of Decoration Day Bright wreaths of flowers on every grave were laid, And none more fragrant beautiful and fair Than on the lonely mound were scattered there In tender mem'ry of the Orphan Child Whose spirit gazed from Paradise and smiled. \ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 597 918 #