The bugle echoes shrill and sweet,

But not of war it sings today.

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.

Joyce Kilmer