’Twas the youngest, and the noblest, and the bravest of us all.
He had dared the direst dangers of that dread and dear-bought day,
For he had been the foremost in the fury of the fray;
But a solemn silence answered when we called him on the roll,
And we knew that we had lost him—and that heaven had gained a soul.
The night was closing chill and dim, and stars were in the sky,
When forth we went to look for him—the battle-field was nigh;
The moon shone out to aid us in our grim and ghostly quest,
As we turned the brave men over that were lying there—at rest.
Where the fight had waxed the fiercest, on the margin of the field,