Poem, "Our Nation's Dead" by Edwin J. Udell, Wilmette, Ill.

Our Nation's Dead [heading]

The seasons come, the seasons go

The winter's frost, the summer's glow,

The rain, the wind, the drifting snow,

The buds of spring, the yellow leaf,

The seedtime bright, the golden sheaf,

And ceaseless labor, joy and grief.

O lapsing years! with all you bring

Of joy and sorrow, still we sing

Of our dead heroes; still we fling

Upon their graves from nook and field

The choicest sweets the valleys yield,

For they were once our nation's shield.

Edwin J. Udell, Wilmette, Ill.