⁠Their death hath sanctified,
And the sculptured forms of the men in arms,
⁠And their faces ere they died.

And what heroic figures
⁠Can the sculptor carve in stone?
Can the marble breast be made to bleed,
⁠And the marble lips to moan?
Can the marble brow be fevered?
⁠And the marble eyes be graved
To look their last, as the flag floats past,
⁠On the country they have saved?

And the answer came: The figures
⁠Shall all be fair and brave,
And, as befitting, as pure and white
⁠As the stars above their grave!
The marble lips, and breast and brow
⁠Whereon the laurel lies,
Bequeath us right to guard the flight
⁠Of the old flag in the skies!

A monument for the Soldiers!
⁠Built of a people's love,
And blazoned and decked and panoplied
⁠With the hearts ye build it of!
And see that ye build it stately,
⁠In pillar and niche and gate,
And high in pose as the souls of those
⁠It would commemorate!