* * * * *
SENTINEL SONGS.
When falls the soldier brave
Dead—at the feet of wrong,—
The poet sings, and guards his grave
With sentinels of song.
Songs, march! he gives command,
Keep faithful watch and true;
The living and dead of the Conquered Land
Have now no guards save you.
Grave Ballads! mark ye well!
Thrice holy is your trust!
Go! halt! by the fields where warriors fell,
Rest arms! and guard their dust.
List, Songs! your watch is long!
The soldiers' guard was brief,
Whilst right is right, and wrong is wrong,
Ye may not seek relief.
Go! wearing the gray of grief!
Go! watch o'er the Dead in Gray!
Go guard the private and guard the chief,
And sentinel their clay!
And the songs, in stately rhyme,
And with softly sounding tread,
Go forth, to watch for a time—a time,
Where sleep the Deathless Dead.
And the songs, like funeral dirge,
In music soft and low,
Sing round the graves,—whilst not tears surge
From hearts that are homes of woe.
What though no sculptured shaft
Immortalize each brave?
What though no monument epitaphed
Be built above each grave?