By the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, Asleep on the ranks of the dead; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the one, the Blue; Under the other, the Gray. These in the robings of glory, Those in the gloom of defeat; All with the battle-blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the laurel, the Blue; Under the willow, the Gray. From the silence of sorrowful hours, The desolate mourners go, Lovingly laden with flowers, Alike for the friend and the foe; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the roses, the Blue; Under the lilies, the Gray. So, with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender, On the blossoms blooming for all; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Broidered with gold, the Blue; Mellowed with gold, the Gray. So, when the summer calleth, On forest and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Wet with the rain, the Blue; Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done; In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the blossoms, the Blue; Under the garlands, the Gray. No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red; They banish our anger forever, When they laurel the graves of our dead. Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Love and tears for the Blue; Tears and love for the Gray. AT THE FARRAGUT STATUE ROBERT BRIDGES [Sidenote: 1801, 1870] _Farragut's statue by Saint Gaudens was unveiled in New York in 1881_ To live a hero, then to stand In bronze serene above the city's throng; Hero at sea, and now on land Revered by thousands as they rush along; If these were all the gifts of fame-- To be a shade amid alert reality, And win a statue and a name-- How cold and cheerless immortality! But when the sun shines in the Square, And multitudes are swarming in the street, Children are always gathered there, Laughing and playing round the hero's feet. GRANT H. C. BUNNER [Sidenote: 1822, 1885] _This was written on the day of Grant's death, July 23._ Smile on, thou new-come Spring--if on thy breeze The breath of a great man go wavering up And out of this world's knowledge, it is well.