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At the day of judgment we shall all meet again.

Go, forget me - why should sorrow, O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me - and tomorrow, brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile - though I shall not be near thee; Sing - though I shall never hear thee.

The mystic cords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the angels of our nature.

When you're all singing together, it brings things together. I know the songs that my grandfather and my father sang.

We shall meet again before long to march to new triumphs.

I shall go the way of the open sea, to the lands I knew before you came, and the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me the memory of your name.

We live in the mind, in ideas, in fragments. We no longer drink in the wild outer music of the streets - we remember only.

We pass now quickly from each other's sight; but I know full well that where beyond these passing scenes you shall be, there will be Heaven.

Yes, you've got to sing from the depths of the heart.

As we wander, grieving, in yet another dark moment, amid our pain we must struggle to remember the redemptive power of love and hope.