782 
'Ghc  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
May  20,  1910. 
WOMAN  AND  HOME 
Memorial  Day  Poems 
Old  Time  Favorites 
Decoration  Day  on  the  Place 
It’s  lonesome — sort  o’  lonesome, — 
it’s  a  Sund’y  day,  to  me, 
It  ’pears  like  more’n  any  day  I  nearly 
ever  sec! — 
Yit,  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  above, 
a-fluttcrin’  in  the  air, 
On  cv’ry  soldier’s  grave  I’d  love  to 
lay  a  lily  thare. 
They  say,  though,  Decoration  Days  is 
ginerly  observed 
’Most  everywhvres — Espcshally  by 
soldier-boys  that’s  served, — 
But  me  and  Mother’s  never  went — 
wc  seldom  git  away, — 
In  p’int  o’  fact,  we’re  alius  home 
on  Decoration  Day. 
They  say  the  old  boys  marches 
through  the  streets  in  colum’s  grand, 
A-follcrin’  the  old  war-tunes  they’re 
playin’  on  the  band, — 
And  citizuns  all  joinin’  in — 
and  little  children,  too — 
All  marchin’,  under  shelter  of  the 
old  Red,  White  and  Blue. 
With  roses!  roses!  roses! — ev’rybody 
in  the  town  !— 
And  crowds  o’  little  girls  in  white 
jest  fairly  loaded  down! — 
Oh!  don’t  THE  BOYS  know  it  from 
theyr  camp  acrost  the  hill? — 
Don’t  they  see  theyr  com’ards 
cornin’,  and  the  old  flag  wavin’  still. 
Oh!  can’t  they  hear  the  bugul  and 
the  rattle  of  the  drum? — 
Ain’t  they  no  way  under  heavens  they 
can  rickollect  us  some? 
Ain’t  they  no  way  we  can  coax  ’em, 
through  the  roses,  jest  to  say 
They  know  that  ev’ry  day  on  earth’s 
theyr  Decoration  Day. 
We’ve  tried  that — me  and  Mother, — 
whare  Elias  takes  his  rest. 
In  the  orchard — in  his  uniform, 
and  hands  acrost  his  brest, 
And  the  flag  he  died  fer,  smilin’ 
and  a-ripplin’  in  the  breeze 
Above  his  grave, — and  over  that, — 
The  Robin  in  the  trees. 
And  yit  it’s  lonesome — lonesome!. 
it’s  a  Sund’y  day  to  me. 
It  ’pears-like  more’n  any  day  I  nearly 
ever  see! — 
Still,  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  above, 
a-fiutterin’  in  the  air, 
On  ev’ry  soldier’s  grave  I’d  love  to  lay 
a  lily  thare. 
JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY. 
“  The  Blue  and  the  Gray.”  Scene  in  a  Maryland  Country  Churchyard 
The  Blue  and  the  Gray 
By  the  flow  of  the  inland  river, 
Whence  the  fleets  of  iron  have  fled, 
Where  the  blades  of  the  grave-grass  quiver 
Asleep  arc  the  ranks  of  the  dead; — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 
Waiting  the  judgment  day; — 
Under  the  one,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  other,  the  Cray. 
From  the  silence  of  sorrowful  hours 
The  desolate  mourners  go, 
Lovingly  laden  with  flowers 
Alike  for  the  friend  and  the  foe; — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment  day; — 
Under  the  roses,  the  Blue; 
Under  the  lilies,  the  Gray. 
So  with  an  equal  splendor 
The  morning  sun-rays  fall, 
With  a  touch,  impartially  tender, 
On  the  blossoms  blooming  for  all 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment  day; — 
’Broidcred  with  gold,  the  Blue, 
Mellowed  with  gold,  the  Gray. 
So,  when  the  Summer  callcth. 
On  forest  and  field  of  grain 
With  an  equal  murmur  fallcth 
The  cooling  drip  of  the  rain; — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew. 
Waiting  the  judgment  day; — 
Wet  with  the  rain,  the  Blue; 
Wet  wi*h  the  rain,  the  Gray. 
Sadly,  but  not  with  upbraiding. 
The  generous  deed  was  done; 
In  the  storm  of  the  years  that  are  fading, 
No  braver  battle  was  won; — 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment  day; — 
Under  the  blossoms  the  Blue; 
Under  the  garlands,  the  Gray. 
No  more  shall  the  war-cry  sever. 
Or  the  winding  rivers  be  red; 
They  banish  our  anger  forever 
When  they  laurel  the  graves  of  our  dead! 
Under  the  sod  and  the  dew, 
Waiting  the  judgment  day; — 
Love  and  tears  for  the  Blue, 
Tears  and  love  for  the  Gray. 
F.  M.  FINCH. 
