Between the crosses,row on row
That mark our place,and in the sky
The larks,still bravely singing,fly
Scare Heard amid the guns below
We are the dead short days ago
We lived,felt sown,saw sunset slow,
Loved ,and were loved,and now we lie
In Flanders Fields
Take up our quarrel with the foe,
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch,be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields
Dr. Jon McCrea
Malvern Hill
Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill
In prime of morn and May,
Recall ye how McClellan’s men
Here stood at bay?
While deep within yon forest dim
Our rigid comrades lay–
Some with the cartridge in their mouth,
Others with fixed arms lifted South–
Invoking so
The cypress glades? Ah wilds of woe!
The spires of Richmond, late beheld
Through rifts in musket-haze,
Were closed from view in clouds of dust
On leaf-walled ways,
Where streamed our wagons in caravan;
And the Seven Nights and Days
Of march and fast, retreat and fight,
Pinched our grimed faces to ghastly plight–
Does the elm wood
Recall the haggard beards of blood?
The battle-smoked flag, with stars eclipsed,
We followed (it never fell!)–
In silence husbanded our strength–
Received their yell;
Till on this slope we patient turned
With cannon ordered well;
Reverse we proved was not defeat;
But ah, the sod what thousands meet!–
Does Malvern Wood
Bethink itself, and muse and brood?
Remember every thing;
But sap the twig will fill:
Wag the world how it will,
Leaves must be green in Spring.
Herman Melville
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