Classic Poem

Children of their children, now,
Heap with flowers their graves who fought
States to weld, and stoutly bought
Peace with blood and sweat of brow.

Mute their voices, deaf their ears,
But their graves are vocal still,
Speaking aye in tones that thrill
Words that strengthen with the years.

“Union,” “Freedom!” Hark the cry!
Pledged to these falls every flower.
Pledged to these Earth's youngest Power
Fronts the lowering century.