University of Virginia Library

[Give her the soldier's rite]

Give her the soldier's rite!
She fought the hardest fight:
Not in the storm of battle,
Where the drum's exultant rattle,
The onset's maddening yell,
The scream of shot and shell,
And the trumpet's clangor soaring
Over the cannon's roaring,
Thrilled every vein with fire,
And combat's mad desire;
She fought her fight alone,
To the sound of dying groan:
The sob of failing breath,
The reveille of death:
She faced the last of foes,
The worst of mortal woes;
The solitude of dying,
The hearts for kindred crying:
By the soldier's lonely bed,
In the midnight dark and dread,
Mid the wounded and the dead,
With life-blood pouring red,
The cries of woe and fear,
Rending the watcher's ear,
The hovering wings of death,
Muttered by dying breath,
There was her truthful eye,
Her smile's sweet bravery,
Her strong word to impart
Peace to the fainting heart.
Give her the soldier's rite!
Let the old Seventh wave
Their flag above her grave:
Let the deep minute gun
Tell of her battle done:
Lo! on the other bank,
Comes down a serried rank,
The souls she comforted,
The army of the dead:
For her salute and shout;
Their victory is our route.
Give her the soldier's rite!
Honor her sleep to night,
For now she ranks us all.
Weave laurels for her pall,
And fold above her bier
The flag she held so dear;
For another fight is won.
Another soldier gone
Through the night, to the light—
And another left alone;
God of battles! help us all!