The marching armies of the past br Along our Southern plains, br Are sleeping now in quiet rest br Beneath the Southern rains. br br The bugle call is now in vain br To rouse them from their bed; br To arms they'll never march again- br They are sleeping with the dead. br br No more will Shiloh's plains be stained br With blood our heroes shed, br Nor Chancellorsville resound again br To our noble warriors' tread. br br For them no more shall reveille br Sound at the break of dawn, br But may their sleep peaceful be br Till God's great judgment morn. br br We bow our heads in solemn prayer br For those who wore the gray, br And clasp again their unseen hands br On our Memorial Day.