Not all in sorrow and in tears,
  To pay of gratitude's arrears
    The yearly sum—
  Not prompted, wholly by the pride
  Of those for whom their friends have died,
    To-day we come.

  Another aim we have in view
  Than for the buried boys in blue
    To drop a tear:
  Memorial Day revives the chin
  Of Barnes, and Salomon chimes in—
    That's why we're here.

  And when in after-ages they
  Shall pass, like mortal men, away,
    Their war-song sung,
  Then fame will tell the tale anew
  Of how intrepidly they drew
    The deadly tongue.

  Then cull white lilies for the graves
  Of Liberty's loquacious braves,
    And roses red.
  Those represent their livers, these
  The blood that in unmeasured seas
    They did not shed.