YES, little daughter, we go again,
One glad bright hour in May,
To cover with bloom the quiet graves
Where sleep the "Blue and Gray."
I think I have told you many times
The sacred reason why,
But mamma often likes to speak
Of the sad, sad days gone by.
I have told you how your grandpa
Fell in the ranks of the Blue,
When I was a wee maid, Barbara,
Not nearly as large as you.
Fell 'neath the dear old banner
At the battle of "Cedar Creek,"
In the days when uncle Charley
Was a baby small and weak.
I well remember him, darling,
So true, and noble, and bold,
Though I was such a small, small girlie,
Not quite turned eight years old.
He told me we of the Northland
Were forced to enter the fight,
How we, not our Southern brother,
Were battling for God and right,
How they of the fiery Southland
Were striving to tear apart
The States cemented by life-blood,
From many a loyal heart.
And I ever was staunchly loyal,
For when my baby came,
I called her the name our Quaker bard
Has given to deathless fame.
Of her who so bravely held the flag,
Out in the morning air
Baring to rebel bullets
The crown of her grand white hair.
But grandpa dwells where he knows to-day
The truth between Gray and Blue
Better than they of that far-off time
Who thought they alone were true,
And mamma has learned that noble men
Were there on the conquered side,
As any that ever suffered,
Suffered and bravely died.
So, little maiden Barbara,
On that sunny time in May,
Let us seek to honor the lonely graves
Of the men who wore the Gray.
Emily Baker Smalle.