Classic Poem

A mother's gift is here enscrolled,
A song unsung, a tale untold.
Entwine for her a wreath of bay,
And weep for her that had to pay
A sacrifice supreme, threefold.

Her sons were worth their weight in gold.
She gave them, free and noble-souled,
As tribute to her U. S. A. —
A mother's gift.

At Appomattox one is cold;
One sleeps in Chickamauga mould.
Both wore their uniforms of gray.
And oh, the third was laid away
In Santiago. . . . Here behold
A mother's gift.