Hush'd Be the Camps to-Day

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.

Sing, to the lower'd coffin there;

Sing, with the shovel'd clods that fill the grave—a verse,

For the heavy hearts of soldiers.