Hush'd be the camps today, 
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.