“ We raise no shout, no trumpet sound, No banner to the breeze we spread; Children of clay! bend humbly round; We plant a City to the Dead. For man a garden rose in bloom, When you glad sun began to burn ”
“ We raise no shout, no trumpet sound, No banner to the breeze we spread; Children of clay! bend humbly round; We plant a City to the Dead. For man a garden rose in bloom, When you glad sun began to burn ”