Memorial Day by Helen Leah Reed (From Memorial Day and Other Verse , 1917) No warrior he, a village lad, needing nor words nor other prod To point his duty; he was glad to tread the path his fathers trod. Week days he worked in wood and field; with homely joys he decked his life; The sword of hate he would not wield, nor take a part in cankering strife. On Sunday in the little choir he sang of Peace and brotherly love, And as his thoughts soared higher and higher, they reached unmeasured heights above. A cry for Freedom rent the Land - "Our Country calls, come, come, 'tis War; Together let us firmly stand;" he answered, though his heart beat sore At leaving home, and kin, and one in whose fond eyes too late he read That lif