2.  These, in the robings of glory,
     Those, in the gloom of defeat,
   All, with the battle blood gory,
     In the dusk of eternity meet;—­
       Under the sod and the dew,
         Waiting the judgment day;
       Under the laurel, the Blue;
         Under the willow, the Gray.

3.  From the silence of sorrowful hours,
     The desolate mourners go,
   Lovingly laden with flowers,
     Alike for the friend and the foe;—­
       Under the sod and the dew,
         Waiting the judgment day;
       Under the roses, the Blue;
         Under the lilies, the Gray.

4.  So, with an equal splendor,
     The morning sun rays fall,
   With a touch, impartially tender,
     On the blossoms blooming for all;—­
       Under the sod and the dew,
         Waiting the judgment day;
       Broidered with gold, the Blue;
         Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

5.  So, when the summer calleth,
     On forest and field of grain,
   With an equal murmur falleth
     The cooling drip of the rain;—­
       Under the sod and the dew,
         Waiting the judgment day;
       Wet with the rain, the Blue;
         Wet with the rain, the Gray.

6.  Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
     The generous deed was done: 
   In the storm of the years that are fading,
     No braver battle was won;—­
       Under the sod and the dew,
         Waiting the judgment day;
       Under the blossoms, the Blue;
         Under the garlands, the Gray.

7.  No more shall the war cry sever,
     Or the winding rivers be red;
   They banish our anger forever,
     When they laurel the graves of our dead;—­
       Under the sod and the dew,
         Waiting the judgment day;
       Love and tears, for the Blue;
         Tears and love, for the Gray. 
                                          —­F.  M. Finch.

Note.—­The above touching little poem first appeared in the “Atlantic Monthly” in September, 1867.  It commemorates the noble action on the part of the women at Columbus, Miss., who in decorating the graves strewed flowers impartially on those of the Confederate and of the Federal soldiers.

LIX.  THE MACHINIST’S RETURN.

[Adapted from a letter written by a correspondent of the Washington “Capital.”]

1.  On our way from Springfield to Boston, a stout, black-whiskered man sat immediately in front of me, in the drawing-room car, whose maneuvers were a source of constant amusement.  He would get up every five minutes, hurry away to the narrow passage leading to the door of the car, and commence laughing in the most violent manner, continuing that healthful exercise until he observed that some one was watching him, when he would return to his seat.