Memorial Parade

Today our community celebrated Memorial Day. The photo above surprised me at the quality example of Americana it projects to the viewer. It reminds me of some of the images in a beautiful book, From Sea to Shining Sea, by Hiroji Kubota that my brother gave me several years ago.

Waiting for the service to begin.The day begins with a service on the lawn of a local church. We sang My Country 'Tis of Thee, America the Beautiful, and the National Anthem and listened to a choir then a band perform some other patriotic selections. The mayor gave a brief address and a prayer for veterans and armed forced currently in service and area safety forces was offered.

Then we turned our chairs from the podium toward the street to watch the parade. Boy Scout groups,a high school band, and flag corps safety forces, Veterans groups, Indian Guides groups and others all marched or walked in the parade. Some groups tossed candy to the children who lined the street.

This is supposed to be a photo of the bagpiper, but the kid on the little scooter is cute too. At the conclusion of the parade veteran's graves at the local cemetery are decorated, there is a gun salute, and taps is played.

This is the first year I have received a program for the Memorial service. I was fascinated to learn that the local cemetery holds the grave site of one Revolutionary War veteran.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's

Decoration Day

Sleep, comrades, sleep and rest
On this Field of the Grounded Arms,
Where foes no more molest,
Nor sentry's shot alarms!

Ye have slept on the ground before,
And started to your feet
At the cannon's sudden roar,
Or the drum's redoubling beat.

But in this camp of Death
No sound your slumber breaks;
Here is no fevered breath,
No wound that bleeds and aches.

All is repose and peace,
Untrampled lies the sod;
The shouts of battle cease,
It is the Truce of God!

Rest, comrades, rest and sleep!
The thoughts of men shall be
As sentinels to keep
Your rest from danger free.

Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers;
Yours has the suffering been,
The memory shall be ours.