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With decimated ranks, they come,
And through the crowded street
March to the beating of the drum
With firm though weary feet.
God bless the soldiers! cry the folk,
Whose cheers of welcome swell;
God bless the banners, black with smoke,
And torn by shot and shell!
They should be hung on sacred shrines,
Baptized with grateful tears,
And live embalmed in poets' lines
Through all succeeding years.
No grander trophies could be brought
By patriot sire to son,
Of glorious battles nobly fought,
Brave deeds sublimely done.
And so, to-day, I chanced with pride
And solemn joy to see
Those remnants from the bloody tide
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