From the silent Southern river,
From the reaching Western plain,
From the quaint New England hillside
Comes a host to march again.
From Manila and El Caney,
From the depths of many a sea,
From the flow’ring fields of Flanders,
Come the sons of Liberty.
Who are these that tread the silence?
They are our departed brave,
Who, despite their years of dreaming,
Still are troubled in the grave.
See, they bear a flaming banner,
These who died for us of yore.
This the message that it flashes:
“Brothers, dream of war no more.”