Kissing the old graves of our own!

Not to the slain love’s lovely debt

Alone;

But jealous hearts that live and ache

Remember, and while drums are mute,

Beneath your banners’ bright outbreak,

Salute:

And say for us to lessening ranks

That keep the memory and the pride,

On whose thinned hair our tears and thanks

Abide,

Who from their saved Republic pass,

Glad with the Prince of Peace to dwell: