Classic Poem

The silence shall be broken on the hill,
The lips that hid their secret in the clay
Shall open from the poor dumb grief of earth,
When comes the Reveille.

From every field of whiting, bleaching bones,
Where dear remembered love kneels down to pray,
Shall wake the soldier, lying on his arms,
When comes the Reveille.

The widow's tears shall cease, — the mother's smile
Shall be the nimbus of the Blue and Gray, —
The chieftain on his shield, the dead unknown,
When comes the Reveille.

The silent blood that stained the bearded grain
Shall cry from where its golden billows play,
And spears shall shake the Valley of Dry Bones,
When comes the Reveille.

The mourning wreath of cypress leaves shall die,
And truth will crown the right with hallowed bay,
And time will hurl the darkened glass aside,
When comes the Reveille.

When comes the Reveille, — Eternity
Shall strip the ragged cloak from Blue and Gray,
And face to face their naked deeds shall stand,
When comes the Reveille.