Classic Poem

Gather the sacred dust
Of the warriors tried and true,
Who bore the Flag of our nation's trust,
And fell in a cause as great as just,
And died for me and you.

Wherever the brave have died
They should not rest apart;
Living they struggled side by side—
Why should the hand of Death divide
A single heart from heart?

Gather them, each and all,
From the Private to the Chief;
Came they from cabin or lordly hall,
Over their dust let the fresh tears fall
Of a nation's holy grief.

No matter whence they came—
Dear is their lifeless clay—
Whether unknown or known to fame,
Their cause and country were the same—
They died—and wore the Gray.

Gather the corpses strown
O'er many a battle plain—
From many a grave that lies so lone,
Without a name and without a stone—
Gather the Southern slain.

And the dead shall meet the dead,
While the living o'er them weep;
For the men whom Lee and Stonewall led,
And the hearts that once together bled,
Should now together sleep.