Hush! our Colonel lies in slumber—
Folded close in Death’s cold arms;
Never more he’ll join our number,
Never more hear war’s alarms.
Frank by nature—brave and loyal—
Dearly loved and prized was he;
Now his wreath is more than royal—
In our hearts enshrined he’ll be.
Never more the drum’s swift beating,
Nor the clarion trumpet shrill,
Shall arouse him from his sleeping
And his breast from his sleeping
He was loved by all his brothers
In the camp—none more than he;
Everything he shared with others,
Now we claim “his memory;”
And the Seventy-first will cherish
All his virtues, all his aims.
If in battle we should perish,
Doing what stern duty claims,
He will gaze with satisfaction,
Smiling as he used to smile
To reward our noble action
And be proud of us the while.
Wrap our glorious flag around him,
Let the Stripes and Stars be seen,
Whilst his comrades who surround him,
Swear to “keep his memory green;”
Then will his proud soul elate him
Higher still, to camps above,
Where the angel-warriors wait him,
And a sword of perfect love.