“Comrade, farewell,” those volleys seem to say,
That break the stillness of the summer air.
And, ’ere the last sad echoes die away,
Think what we lose in him who’s lying there.
Think what he was; then, weeping, cry, “Oh, may
We all be like him,” this should be our prayer.
A man consistent to his short life’s end,
Smart soldier, keenest sportsman, truest friend.