They all must quickly gather for the final grand review.
Dead on the field of battle? Nay, living heroes come
With martial note, with banners furled, with sadly muffled drum;
We hear the dirges wailing past upon the fragrant breeze,
And know they swell and sob and die, o'er thousands such as these.
Dead on the field of battle, the bugle sweet and clear
Is telling how they fought and bled, these soldiers we revere;—
These noble comrades, honor crowned, now moving on abreast
To love's eternal camping ground and to eternal rest.