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THE ADDRESS 
 
 Comrades and Friends 
 
 N THIS silent city of the dead, we have 
 assembled on a day appointed for that 
 purpose to do honor to their memory. 
 It is fitting^ that we should do so to all the dead, 
 whether they have lived lives that have made 
 them known of men, or whether they lived the 
 quiet days of a simple life, and sank into their 
 final rest unwept beyond the narrow circle of 
 their friends. For we know that the years of 
 even the humblest man have been full of trials 
 and sorrows, and that life is indeed a battle, with 
 its victories and its defeats, its hardships and its 
 consolations. 
 
 About us the grass grows green above 
 graves of those whom we have never known, 
 
 Three 
 
but whose lives have been full of sacrifice and 
 self-abnegation ; and the mourners come and go, 
 holding in their hearts the sacred trust of their 
 affection. All that life could offer these dear de- 
 parted ones, all its hopes and aspirations, all its 
 tender thought, all its loving ties, are gone for- 
 ever. There is left only their memory, and a 
 legacy of sorrow ; and this inheritance is so cer- 
 tain, that within the sound of my voice there are 
 none to whom it is unknown. Wives, who in 
 the lapsing years have seen the lover of their 
 youth grow into the more loved father of their 
 children, whom at last they followed into this 
 serene God's Acre, and felt life stand still be- 
 cause of the loss of the one who had been their 
 solace and comfort in all the ills of life ; fathers, 
 who have seen the hope of their future years 
 laid under the daisied sod; mothers, who look 
 upon the little graves and feel yet the jclinging 
 arms of the young babe about their necks. The 
 young He here, and the old. All find this com- 
 mon resting place. Who can tell of the living 
 
 ■ Four 
 
what sorrows they cherish, what dear memories 
 of the dead are always with them? 
 
 ''Man goeth to his long home, and the 
 mourners walk the streets." 
 
 These who once lived have gone beyond our 
 criticism. Maybe while they lived we saw too 
 much the venial fault, considered too little the 
 generous virtues. Some have rounded out a full 
 life, with ample fulfillment. Some have, in our 
 weak judgment, failed in their fullest purpose. 
 Some fell by the wayside, and we remember 
 their errors with a charity that we failed to ex- 
 tend when they were with us, "They only fal- 
 tered in the path w^hich we have tottering trod." 
 They are all here — all these loved dead. The 
 fair sky is over all ; they all have equal rest. 
 
 "Here, all along warm summer days 
 
 The yei'.ow bees shall come, 
 Coquetting down the blossomy ways 
 
 With fond and ringing hum; 
 
 Five 
 
While warbling in the leafy trees- 
 
 The birds flit to and fro; 
 Sing sweetly, sweetly, birds and bees. 
 
 Because they loved you so." 
 
 So in this summer air we remember that 
 here lies all of earth ; here is its closure ; each 
 grave, a rounded life; each mound, "a tale that 
 is told." 
 
 "Earth's grandest epic ends in 'Here he lies,' 
 And 'Dust to dust' concludes her noblest song." 
 
 It is good that we are here; it is fitting that 
 we should honor these dead. 
 
 But we are here to-day for more than this. 
 In the history of a great Nation, there came a 
 time when all that the patient years had built 
 up was in a moment threatened with destruc- 
 tion. The Great Republic that shone out as a 
 beacon to the civilized world as "a government 
 of the people, by the people, and for the people," 
 offering a refuge and a welcome to the worn and 
 weary of all lands, resplendent with all that 
 
 su 
 
made a nation glorious, and in the full tide of 
 prosperity and promise, was, by the madness of 
 mad men, placed in such imminent peril that it 
 seemed for a moment that civilization was to 
 turn back on the dial, and a Nation that had 
 fdled the earth with wonder and admiration and 
 the generous emulation of patriotic hearts the 
 world over was to disappear and vanish forever. 
 What a cloud would have fallen upon all 
 mankind ! Elverywhere in civilized places, men, 
 wearv with their toiling lives and hopeless of 
 better days, gazed wistfully westward to where 
 the setting sun looked lovingly down upon a 
 happy land, and dreamed of a joyous time when 
 they might follow their kindred and rest in the 
 peace and security that had been denied their 
 hapless lives. The Republic was a grand pro- 
 test against caste, a living proof that men could 
 well govern themselves. We were kin to all the 
 world. All peoples were concerned that we 
 should exist and prosper. We offered hope to 
 the hopeless, faith to the despairing, and exalta- 
 
 Seven 
 
tion to the depressed. And when the booming^ 
 of the cannon brought upon the reluctant winds 
 the echoes of the assault on the Nation, men 
 stood aghast ; the hammer fell from the nerve- 
 less hand, the pen dropped from the palsied 
 fingers. 
 
 Who shall tell the story of those wonderful 
 days? After weeks of shame and agony, there 
 came the clarion call from the immortal Lincoln, 
 and men sprang to arms. Simple men, who so 
 far had lived their lives in affectionate care for 
 those the}' loved, w'ere moved by the grander 
 love for all men, that accepted toil, sacrifice, 
 sijckness, wounds, even death, for their reward; 
 men who soared beyond the narrower circle of 
 home and home friends, and hazarded — and ac- 
 cepted — death, that the Nation might live. And 
 of these great hearts there were more than a 
 million. 
 
 I can sec again the constant ranks of blue ; 
 I can hear the steady march whose echoes shall 
 be heard through all the ages and shall last 
 
 Eight 
 
while the earth endures. Of all their heroic 
 deeds, who can tell ! 
 
 Tn the old Greek and Roman days, burning 
 words told of brave acts. Our school books tell 
 us of what was done on the plain where 
 
 "The mountains look on Marathon, 
 And Marathon looks on the sea." 
 
 All the ages ring with heroism ; but in our 
 day, while here and there the poet has sung, the 
 historian written, and the/ orator has spoken 
 inspired words, language has failed to tell the 
 wondrous story. Heroism became common- 
 place. All men so rose to the occasion that 
 scarcely any grand deed could rise above the 
 common act. It was a nation of freemen moved 
 by grand conviction, and fighting as no nation 
 has fought since the old days of Holland. 
 
 Through days of deep depression, when the 
 air was full of defeat ; through brighter days, 
 when victory crowned our efforts, we recall the 
 weary marches, the rainy, sodden camps ; the 
 
 Nine 
 
night alafms, the attack, the repulse, the hos- 
 pital, the wild battles where the dead lay in 
 windrows, and the wounded filled the night Avith 
 horror. How vividly come before our eyes the 
 dead, the dying; the wounded comrade, left on 
 the abandoned field; the thickets where the 
 creeping flame found the wounded with a little 
 life, and left them with scarce a semblance of 
 humanity ; the hurried burial in unmarked 
 graves upon meadow slopes and in the shadow 
 of the silent woods. We call to mind the impris- 
 onment, that meant starvation and death ; the 
 escape and the baying bloodhounds on the trail ; 
 the crackling sound of the volley, the deep 
 booming of the cannon, the bursting shell, the 
 wild cheers of the charge, the exultant capture 
 of the colors; the sullen retreat, and the spitting 
 fire of the muskets ; the madness and glory of 
 the advancCe, the capture of the rifle-pits, the 
 headlong rush over the fortifications — Old Glory 
 floating its silken folds in the sulphurous air, 
 and the wild thrill of victory. 
 
 Ten 
 
The weeping maidens, wives and mothers 
 who listened to what the winds would bring — 
 and hoped, and feared, and wept — when defeat 
 came, hoped for the consolation that their loved 
 were spared ; when the bells rang out for vic- 
 tory, dreaded to hear that brothers, sons, hus- 
 bands had won the victory by their blood — de- 
 nied even the knowledge of where they lay, but 
 knowing full well that their last hours were 
 hours of agony, and their last thoughts thoughts 
 of home. 
 
 For the soldier, was the compensation of 
 action and the subtle joy of the battle ; but to 
 the women Avho, w^eeping, consented to his go- 
 ing, there was no relief from the agony of wait- 
 ing—waiting — dreading — no relief but tears. 
 
 I see about me those who were actors in 
 this great drama — soldiers who fought, women 
 who wept; and around me are the graves of the 
 illustrious dead. The summer sun shines fair, 
 the birds sing, the flowers bloom, and more than 
 a quarter of a century has passed away since 
 
 Eleven L.ofC. 
 
those troubled days. The Great Republic, our 
 own loved Nation, is strong and vigorous ; we 
 are filled with patriotic love, knowing that in 
 ages to come she will shine forth with ever 
 greater radiance, the bright exemplar of all na- 
 tions and peoples. 
 
 And we feel that this should be so, for she 
 has not been forgetful of those who fought and 
 those who died for her. This day of days she 
 has set apart as a Memorial Day when we shall 
 specially remember her years of peril and her 
 brave defenders, and has said: "This day shall 
 remain upon the record forever and forever; it 
 shall be sacred to the Nation's Dead, and shall 
 be a day when their graves shall bloom with 
 flowers, and the Nation's gratitude shall be man- 
 ifest to all men." 
 
 The Grand Army of the Republic, soldiers 
 who survived the hazards of war, instituted the 
 sacredness of this day, formulated the methods 
 of its obser\'ance, and faithfully through all the 
 years have cared for the graves of their com- 
 
 Twelve 
 
rades. Each Memorial Day, over all the land, 
 in cemeteries and in obscure burial places, the 
 tiny flag droops over the patriotic dead, and 
 claims for the soldier the tribute of flowers. 
 
 Yearly they come with lessened numbers, 
 and the feet that once kept time to the music of 
 the drum and fife now mount these slopes with 
 faltering steps. The fleeting years have borne 
 away their youtli, but their affectionate enthus- 
 iasms and love for their old comrades is as 
 bright and clear as when, upon the first observ- 
 ance of this day, they placed thie significant 
 white, red and blue flowers on the graves of the 
 Nation's dead.. And so they will continue to do 
 until the last survivor of the Old Guard tot- 
 ters up these summer slopes, and solitary and 
 alone, surrounded by his dead comrades, lays 
 down his last tribute of blossoms in this en- 
 closure where year after year the lessening col- 
 umn listened to the memorial service for the 
 heroes gone before. 
 
 We truht their duties will be worthilv dis- 
 
 Tbirteen 
 
charged by the Sons of Veterans who succeed 
 them, and the honored dead continue to be hon- 
 ored. Memorial Day has become a time when 
 3ll the dead are specially remembered, and so 
 this enclosure is thronged with those who bring 
 tokens of their aflfection and undying memories. 
 It were .fitting if they also made it a day of na- 
 tional remembrance, and it would be a graceful 
 act if all, from their wealth of bloom, would 
 spare a few blossoms for the soldier whose last 
 resting place is near that of their own beloved 
 ones. Let us hope that this may grow into a 
 custom such that if the time should come when 
 there were no organized societies to fulfill this 
 loving trust, it Avould still be done, because of 
 the remembrance of all Americans whose own 
 grief recalled the past lives and services of these 
 patriots. 
 
 But the Grand Army still lives and still 
 fulfills its mission, yearly bringing blossoms to 
 the graves of its loved comrades. And so we 
 are here to-day to do honor to these dead, and 
 
 Fourteen 
 
we believe that when we have passed away this 
 day will still be sacred and these soldiers still re- 
 membered. 
 
 We respect all the dead, for we know that 
 they have lived, and to live means to all men, 
 according to their temperament and; environ- 
 ment, a degree of toil, affection and self-abnega- 
 tion. But to these dead of the Republic who 
 have added to this an unselfishness and love that 
 encompassed a whole Nation, shall we not give 
 larger tribute? For ''Greater love hath no man 
 than this, that a man lay down his life for his 
 friends." 
 
 So upon these sacred graves we place our 
 flowers ; with grateful hearts recall their glorious 
 deeds; and in the serene summer air leave them 
 to their sacred rest and to the Eternal care. 
 
 Fifteen 
 
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