89 



None knew thee but to love thee, 

 Nor named thee but to praise. 



Tears fell when thou wert dying, 

 From eyes unused to weep, 

 And long, where thou art lying, 

 Shall tears the cold turf steep. 



When hearts whose truth was proven, 

 Like thine, are laid in earth, 

 There should a wreath be woven 

 To tell the world their worth. 



And I who wake each morrow, 

 To clasp they hand in mine, 

 Who shared thy joy and sorrow, 

 Whose weal and woe were thine — 



It should be mine to braid it 

 Around thy faded brow ; 

 But I've in vain assayed it 

 And feel I cannot now. 



While memory bids me weep thee, 

 Nor thoughts, nor words are free, 

 The grief is fixed too deeply 

 That mourns a man like thee. 



Then Mr. Davis on behalf of the Society formally pre- 

 sented the tablet and railing to the city of New York through 

 the Hon. Thomas W. Whittle, Park Commissioner of the 

 Borough of the Bronx, who accepted the transfer in a few 

 well-chosen words. No sooner had he finished speaking than 

 the first gun of the National Salute to the Flag was fired by 

 Battery E, Second Field Artillery, N. G., N. Y., Lieutenant 

 Robert W. Marshall commanding. As the last gun was fired, 

 the Battery bugler sounded " Taps " at the tomb. The mem- 

 bers of the Society and guests returned to the automobiles and 

 rode to Bronx Park, the gorge of the river below the old 

 snuff-mill being reached at six o'clock. The veil of evening 

 was soon to fall as a fit termination of a glorious memorial 

 day. Daylight lingered long enough for the unveiling of the 



