Classic Poem

Honor, for ever honor due
Be paid the patriot brave, —
The men, to home and country true,
Who died our rights to save.

They planted on this fertile soil,
And wet with blood, the tree;
Ours is the fruit of all their toil,
They bled — and we are free.

They bound the chain of union strong,
And bade it ever hold;
That we, their sons, may gather long
Within its happy fold.

That chain of union let us keep
Bright as when first it shone;
The love they cherished fixed and deep,
That love be all our own.

Let years roll on, and far and wide
Still spread our free domain,
The dead who rest here side by side
Will not have died in vain.