Through his verse the orphans cry -- The terrible undertone -- And the father's curse and the mother's sigh, And the desolate young wife's moan. * * * * * But harps are in every land That await a voice that sings, And a master-hand -- but the humblest hand May gently touch its strings. I sing with a voice too low To be heard beyond to-day, In minor keys of my people's woe, But my songs pass away. To-morrow hears them not -- To-morrow belongs to Fame -- My songs, like the birds', will be forgot, And forgotten shall be my name. And yet who knows? Betimes The grandest songs depart, While the gentle, humble, and low-toned rhymes Will echo from heart to heart. But, oh! if in song or speech, In major or minor key, My voice could over the ages reach, I would whisper the name of Lee. In the night of our defeat Star after star had gone, But the way was bright to our soldiers' feet Where the star of Lee led on. But sudden there came a cloud, Out rung a nation's knell; Our cause was wrapped in its winding shroud, All fell when the great Lee fell. From his men, with scarce a word, Silence when great hearts part! But we know he sheathed his stainless sword In the wound of a broken heart. He fled from Fame; but Fame Sought him in his retreat, Demanding for the world one name Made deathless by defeat. Nay, Fame! success is best! All lost! and nothing won: North, keep the clouds that flush the West, We have the sinking sun. All lost! but by the graves Where martyred heroes rest, He wins the most who honor saves -- Success is not the test. All lost! a nation weeps; By all the tears that fall, He loses naught who conscience keeps, Lee's honor saves us all. All lost! but e'en defeat Hath triumphs of her own, Wrong's paean hath no note so sweet As trampled Right's proud moan. The world shall yet decide, In truth's clear, far-off light, That the soldiers who wore the gray, and died With Lee, were in the right. And men, by time made wise, Shall in the future see No name hath risen, or ever shall rise, Like the name of Robert Lee. Ah, me! my words are weak, This task surpasses me; Dead soldiers! rise from your graves and speak, And tell how you loved Lee. The banner you bore is furled, And the gray is faded, too! But in all the colors that deck the world Your gray blends not with blue. The colors are far apart, Graves sever them in twain; The Northern heart and the Southern heart May beat in peace again; But still till time's last day, Whatever lips may plight, The blue is blue, but the gray is gray, Wrong never accords with Right. Go, Glory! and forever guard Our chieftain's hallowed dust; And Honor! keep eternal ward! And Fame! be this thy trust! Go! with your bright emblazoned scroll And tell the years to be, The first of names that flash your roll Is ours -- great Robert Lee.