Now in her arms the foes lie still;
She grants them gracious covering;
With quarrel done, their sweet good will
The happy birds forever sing.
O days of blood and jealous pain,
You hurt our hearts full deep and long,
That still the bitter thoughts remains
Resentful of the costly wrong!
O noble heart, whose sacrifice
Sealed gloriously the Nation's cause,
Whose thoughts, benevolent and wise,
Are reverenced as the Nation's laws,
How have we imitated thee,
Redeemed thy large and liberal word-
If malice banish charity,
With hands still ready for the sword ?
May incense of these roses fair
That die in this sweet death of May,
With breath of balm load all the air,
To heal the hearts of blue and gray.
'Tis holy fragrance; fraught with fate
Grander than dwells in steam and steel;
And builds the fabric of a state
Worth all the woe that bought its weal.
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