Black Beetles in Amber

Not all in sorrow and in tears,

To pay of gratitude's arrears

The yearly sum—

Not prompted, wholly by the pride

Of those for whom their friends have died,

To-day we come.

Another aim we have in view

Than for the buried boys in blue

To drop a tear:

Memorial Day revives the chin

Of Barnes, and Salomon chimes in—

That's why we're here.

And when in after-ages they

Shall pass, like mortal men, away,

Their war-song sung,

Then fame will tell the tale anew

Of how intrepidly they drew

The deadly tongue.

Then cull white lilies for the graves

Of Liberty's loquacious braves,

And roses red.

Those represent their livers, these

The blood that in unmeasured seas

They did not shed.