Memorial Day

by Joyce Kilmer

The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,
    but not of war it sings to-day.
The road is rhythmic with the feet
    of men-at-arms who come to pray.

The roses blossom white and red
    on tombs where weary soldiers lie;
Flags wave above the honored dead
    and martial music cleaves the sky.

Above their wreath-strewn graves we kneel,
    they kept the faith and fought the fight.
Through flying lead and crimson steel
    they plunged for Freedom and the Right.

May we, their grateful children, learn
    their strength, who lie beneath this sod,
Who went through fire and death to earn
    at last the accolade of God.

In shining rank on rank arrayed
    they march, the legions of the Lord;
He is their Captain unafraid,
    the Prince of Peace...Who brought a sword.