Above whose dust she carves the deathless laurel
Wreathing the victor’s sword.
And here the young cadet, in manly beauty
Borne from the tents which skirt those rocky banks,
Called from life’s daily drill and perilous duty
To these unbroken ranks.
Here too the aged man, the wife, the maiden,
Together hushed, as on His faithful breast
Who cried, “Come hither, all ye heavy-laden
And I will give you rest!”