HUSH'D be the camps to-day;

And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons;

And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate,

Our dear commander's death.


No more for him life's stormy conflicts;

Nor victory, nor defeat--no more time's dark events,

Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.


But sing, poet, in our name;

Sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it

truly.


As they invault the coffin there;

Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse,

For the heavy hearts of soldiers.〔(full text from site maintained by Dr. Peter Batke of Princeton University )〕