O brothers, words are weak!
What tongue shall dare to speak?
Even song itself grows dumb
In this high presence.—Come
Forth, ye whose ashes lie
Under this arching sky!
Speak ye in accents clear
Words that we fain would hear!
Tell us when your dim eyes,
Holy with sacrifice,
Looked through the battle smoke
Up to the skies;
Tell us, ye valiant dead,
When your souls starward fled,
How from the portals far
Where the immortals are,
Chieftains and vikings old,
Heroes and warriors bold,
Men whom old Homer sung,
Men of each age and tongue,
Knights from a thousand fields
Bearing their blazoned shields
Thronged forth to meet ye!
Tell us how, floating down,
Each with a martyr’s crown,
They who had kept the faith,
Grandly defying death;
They who for conscience’ sake
Felt their firm heartstrings break;
They who for truth and right
Unshrinking fought the fight;
They who through fire and flame
Passed on to deathless fame,
Hastened to greet ye!
Tell how they welcomed ye,
Hailed and applauded ye,
Claimed ye as comrades true,
Brave as the world e’er knew;
Led your triumphant feet
Up to the highest seat,
Crowned ye with amaranth,
Laurel and palm.