Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1899-06-09
Memorial Day Address.
CONTINUED FROM FIRST rAer.l

and anNieilrS that lsrpleN and Cypress,
and. 50 much as may he, forget the just
lings Of the forum, the strife OF the mart
and the
Rushing wheels
OF trades tumultuous Jar"
and take counsel from the dead. who.
from just across the river still speak to Us.
We are met today for this purpose and
TO scatter upon the graves of the fallen
brave the early spring flowers. You OF
the Grand Army of the Republic. the
veterans of a score of battles. the Surviv-
ing comrades of those who sleep beneath
the green turf, have come up hither to-
day to make this floral offering; and fit
ting it is that you should perform this
ceremony; YOU at whose right hand and
at whose left hand these men fell. You,
who, as they fell and as the ranks were
again closed up at sharp command, felt
the touch of Il new comrades elbow. Fit
ting it is, that You, who withstood the
fatigue of the wcariSume march, who
escaped malaria and fever and the bullet,
should keep green and fragrant the
graves of those who went down at your
side, while you, through miraculous
Providence still stood. Nor are YOU alone
in this work. Up hither also, from their
quiet homes have come the old and
young; the man of business, the student
and woman too, bringing flowers in
memory of the heroic dead. Nor is this
the only gathering thus employed; but
everywhere over the face of the whole
country, wherever in the late struggle
Union soldiers fought and fell, CRATE
full people are today, as here - under the
auspices of veterans - assembled to re-
count their Sutferings and commemorate
their valor. Not only at all the great
battle fields, NEARLY every one of which
has its national cemetery, but in many
a quiet churchyard may be found the
graves Of the Union dead and many
another gathering like this have today
plucked their choicest flowers for their
decoration.
These men have gone to their reward.
They We're sacrificed upon no pagan al
tar; they met no aimeSS death. They
paid their devotions at the shrine of lib
erty and there offered up their lives.
They died for the universal freedom of
man; and, if the poet be right, they died
in the right place
"Whether on the scaifold high,
Or in the battles van,
The tittest place where man can die,
Is where he dies for man."
Though dead these men still speak to
us, and not these alone but the myriads.
also, who have peopled earth but now
slumber in their native mold. From the
silent chambers of the dead comes up Il
voice calling to duty, stimulating to
patriotism, admonishing against the
vanities and follies of this world. and
warning all of the uncertainty of life
and the universal dominion of death.
Thus speak the whole congregation of
the dead but with special emphasis do
the soldier dead of all ages speak to us.
They speak not as idlers and truants,
but with the voice of those who died at
the post Of duty, away from home and
friends, upon the t1inty and steel couch
of war;" i'll some hour of great national
agony, when tyrants trembled and
shackles fell, Or perchance, when a ma
ton was born to freedom or race to
liberty.
With such voice. comrades, your dead
companions speak today-and with such
voice will they ever speak. But enough;
it is easy to linger upon a time so re-
plete with ralor, and yet SO tempered
with thoughts that lead away into the
mysteries of the hereafter; but from it,
from the exceeding brightness of the
portion of patriot dead, | would turn for
moment to the living Not unto all
who. nobly offered was accorded the high
privilege of sealing their devotion with
their lives. Many went through the
fiery baptism and came back; some
without scratch or scar, some with only
an arm or a leg shot away; others, per-
chance, with only bullet hole through
the body, Or with constitution Slapped of
vigor by the lurking poison of the rheumy
swamp. | see few here today, but you
need not be reminded that your number
is significantly less now than 81 years
ago when you came marching home
with your battles all fought, and your
victories all won, Times devouring
scythe is constantly gathering you in.
You are at most only remnant of the
vast army to which you once belonged.
And, as in the retreat from Moscow,
Marshall Ney, without command, re-
ported himself late one night to Napo-
leon as the rear guard of the Imneria,
Army of France, so in few years, the
solitary survivor of the late struggle may
announce himself as the rear guard of
that mastering host of citizen soldiers
who at the call of their country sprang
to arms, and made themselves as terrible
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