The Iola register. [volume] (Iola, Allen County, Kansas) 1875-1902, 1890-05-30
THE FALLEN.

Toll the slow bell,
Toll the low bell,
Toll, toll,
Make dole
For them that wrought so well
TO them that fought and fell,
Once more, farewell, farewell,
Once more farewell.
Come, come,
Bid the dull drum
Hush all gladness dumb.
While doiorous horn and death-remember-
ing bell
The steady vo.ce of sorrow swell.
Solemn measures slow
Toll and beat aud blow;
Rebuke it, darken, blight
This bright, IMPLYING light;
Put out all glories that adorn
This sweet, unheeding merH.
TOll-tOll-
Toll-toll-
For them, our beauty and our might,
Gone on the unreturning way,
For them that took the night
That we might have the day.
Blow the sad horn
This glad May morn;
Knell, knell,
Lat the slow bell
BE struck, and the troubled drum.
Come, come,
Sound on-slnce we must weep on-for their
sleep
Who had not time to weep,
And our high honor keep.
Blow the sad horns,
Bring flowers for them that took the thorns.
The sacred scroll-let It once more bs read,
gether;
Here In the warm May weather,
Number once more the well-beloved dead.
Love, love forgets no brother
Born Of our common mother:
Here In the warm May weather,
Bow we In grief together,
KDeel we in grief together:
To them that wrought SO WELL.
To all that fought and fell,
Once more, farewell, farewell,
Once more, farewell.
II.
Death-Death! Whence cometh he
Who said that he should beS
oh, IL Death were, these were his foremost
foes,
who, though heneeforth they tent
Beyond the Ornament,
Deliver still their undiminished blows:
Who, marching bright and far
As flames the fartherest star,
Along she fadeless field of light,
The ringing field of life and right,
Forever gather to the fight.
No more let Grief with his pale face
Offend the splnedor and the grace,
The promise, of this place,
Bid hither crinRing Doubt,
And drive his devil ont:
The Lord, our God, once more He saith,
This hand made all, Ii made not Death. ="
Sepulchered not, but sown
In virtuOus mold, the hardy seed
For harvest of tn enduring deed,
Here live and thrive Gods own.
The brute goes down into his darkened gate,
Content with that unlovely ultimate;
But them we laid here side by side,
nad no ahida
Here died our soldiers, one by one,-
The last grand duty grandly DONE
These acres of green martyr sward
Add to the garden OF our Lord.
Live words, swift words, and joyous, break
From these still mounds:
wake, Freedom, wake!
Blow the glad horn
This bright May morn,
This white May morn;
Strike up the martial stave;
Say where those colors wave
Believe and battled they
Whose face was towards the day:
Say, there nor cowl nor crown
Shall strike you, Freedom, down;
Say on till Hell itself shall near,
Men are that falter not nor fear;
Say, for tn unwavering brave
There is no grave"
Az, staunch undaunted measures blow,
Still gath ring courage as they go;.
High, defiant measures sound,
Send the echoes round and round
Honor's utmost bound:
Again and yet again say for this land,
Still her soldiers sword is In his hand.
Say, these can yet the stifr sword thrust
Up through the dust.
The sinew and the rib of Liberty,
Why being gave TO what was but q name
Lin for them nightly
The voice of long acclaim;
Sound their true worth,
Sound their new birth,
Over the earth:
Blow through all the habitation of the BRAY
Their clear eternal challenge to the grave
John Tance Cheaey