The Lengthening Lines
By Anonymous
G. A. R. Memorial Day, 1919
In Heaven too, each blossoming May,
I think they keep Memorial Day;
And not in scattered, feeble groups,
But one great host of marching troops.
The soldier lines are shortening here,
Swiftly, sadly, year by year;
But yonder, in the skies of spring.
The glorious lines are lengthening.
Still waves Old Glory, even there,
And Heaven itself is not more fair.
Still rises in that peaceful land
The music of the martial band.
No wounds, no weariness! they know
The springing youth of long ago.
Their speeding miles as stoutly run
As in the days of Sixty-one
And how the shining columns cheer
As mighty generals appear.
Heroes of fortune’s high degree.
Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, and Lee!
Ah, yes, and Lee; for on those plains
No thought of ancient strife remains,
But brotherly they march away,
The comrade blue beside the gray.
And thus as each recurring year
The soldier lines grow shorter here,
Our saddened thoughts will gladly rise
To that review beyond the skies.
