Your silent tents of green We deck with fragrant flowers; Yours has the suffering been, The memory shall be ours.

Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?

They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest.

To those who were vigilant so we could rest, Who gave everything that we might thrive, Who are silent that we may breathe free, We honor you.

All mankind is of one Author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated.