The Officer's Funeral


Published by Chas. Magnus, 12 Frankfort St., N. Y.

The Officer’s Funeral.

Hark to the shrill trumpet calling;
It pierceth the soft summer air!
Tears from each comrade are falling,
For the widow and orphan are there!
The bayonets earthward are turning,
And the drum’s muffled breath rolls around,
But he hears not the voice of their moaning,
Nor wakes to the bugle’s sound.

Sleep, soldier; though many regret thee
Who stand by thy cold bier to-day,
Soon shall the kindest forget thee,
And they from the earth pass away.
The man thou didst love as a brother
A friend in thy place will have gained;
Thy dog shall keep watch or another,
And thy steed by a stranger be reined.

But though hearts that now mourn for thee sadly,
Soon joyous as ever shall be,
Though thy bright orphan boy may laugh gladly
As he sits on some comrade’s kind knee,
There is one who shall still pay the duty
Of tears for the true and the brave,
As when first in the bloom of her beauty
She wept o’er the Soldier’s grave.

Published by Chas. Magnus, 12 Frankfort St., N. Y.

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