Not with the anguish of hearts that are breaking1
Come we, as mourners, to weep for our dead,2
Grief in our hearts has grown weary with aching,3
Green is the turf where our tears we have shed.4
While o’er their marbles the mosses are creeping,5
Stealing each name and its record away,6
Give their proud story to memory’s keeping,7
Shrined in the temple we hallow to-day.8
Hushed are their battle-fields, ended their marches,9
Deaf are their ears to the drum-beat of morn—10
Rise from the sod, ye fair columns and arches,11
Tell their bright deeds to the ages unborn.12
Emblem and legend may fade from the portal,13
Key-stone may crumble and pillar may fall,14
They were the builders whose work is immortal,15
Crowned with the dome that is over us all.16