Hush’d be the camps to-day, And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons, And each with musing soul retire to celebrate, Our dear commander’s death.

No more for him life’s stormy conflicts, Nor victory, nor defeat--no more time’s dark events, Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky. But sing poet in our name,

Sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it truly.

As they invault the coffin there, Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse, For the heavy hearts of soldiers.