PICTURES OF THE PAST
Dedicated to the Daughters of the Revolution.
Rich are the radiant portals,—
Wide swinging to left, to right,
Where Memory's walls are laden
With pictures framed in light.
Wide swinging to left, to right,
Where Memory's walls are laden
With pictures framed in light.
Undimmed by years are the colors,—
Fadeless the blue and gold,—
Deathless as are the stories
By brush and pencil told.
Fadeless the blue and gold,—
Deathless as are the stories
By brush and pencil told.
We see with the spirit's vision,—
With quickened sense we hear,
And we live the years long vanished,—
With each bygone hope and fear.
With quickened sense we hear,
And we live the years long vanished,—
With each bygone hope and fear.
We feel the nation's pulse-beat,
All the sudden, quick alarms,
That answer the drum's fierce beating,
And the fife's shrill call "To arms."
All the sudden, quick alarms,
That answer the drum's fierce beating,
And the fife's shrill call "To arms."
And the plough is left in the furrow,
While the swift "Good byes" are said,
By lips that to-morrow's sunset
May find cold among the dead.
While the swift "Good byes" are said,
By lips that to-morrow's sunset
May find cold among the dead.
We live it o'er in our thinking,
And our bosoms swell with pride,
For the mothers who watched and waited,—
And the fathers who dared and died.
And our bosoms swell with pride,
For the mothers who watched and waited,—
And the fathers who dared and died.
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