By the flow of the inland river, 
        Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
     Where the blades of the grave grass quiver,
        Asleep are the ranks of the dead;--
            Under the sod and the dew,
                Waiting the judgment day;--
            Under the one, the Blue;
                Under the other, the Gray.

     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 judgement day;--
            Under the laurel, the Blue;
                Under the willow, the Gray.

     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 judgement day;
            Under the roses, the Blue;
                  Under the lilies, the Gray.

     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.

     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.

     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

     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.
                     ----Francis Miles Finch 
                              (1827-1907)