Your Sacred Dust Be the Choice Trust

Memorial Day, 2022

Our martyred dead! on each low bed,
Green be the chaplet, fresh the roses;
No marble cold may guard your mold,
But loving hearts around are swelling.

Oh, lightly rest, on each calm breast,
The turf where each in peace reposes;
Each daring deed shall gain the meed
Of praise from all hearts richly welling.

Hail! hero shades, your battle blades
A wall of steel our homes surrounded;
Your sacred dust be the choice trust
Of Freedom's grateful sons and daughters.

- Anonymous

Beneath the Concave of a Mother’s Wing

Before mine eyes had seen the light of day,
Or that my soul had come from Heaven’s great King⁠—
A harmless, tiny, helpless little thing⁠—
You loved me!—While my tender being lay
In the soft rose-leaves of your heart at rest,
Like some lone bird within its downy nest,
Beneath the concave of its mother’s wing,
Unborn—your soul came in my heart to dwell,
Like perfume in the flower, each part to bring,
As warmth unto the young bird in its shell,
And built me up to what I was to be,
A semblance of thyself. Thus, being cast
In thy heart’s mould, I grew up like to thee,
And lost in thee my first friend with my last!
		
    - T. Holley Chivers, M.D. (1842)