How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
. . . read more

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
. . . .
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung.

See! There is Jackson standing like a stone wall.

See! There is Jackson standing like a stone wall.

"Why me?" That is the soldier's first question, asked each morning as the patrols go out and each evening as read more

"Why me?" That is the soldier's first question, asked each morning as the patrols go out and each evening as the night settles around the foxholes.

Terrible he rode alone,
With his yemen sword for aid;
Ornament it carried none
read more

Terrible he rode alone,
With his yemen sword for aid;
Ornament it carried none
But the notches on the blade.

"I cannot bear it!" said the pewter soldier. "I have shed pewter
tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let read more

"I cannot bear it!" said the pewter soldier. "I have shed pewter
tears! It is too melancholy! Rather let me go to the wars and
lose arms and legs! It would at least be a change. I cannot
bear it longer! Now, I know what it is to have a visit from
one's old thoughts, with what they may bring with them! I have
had a visit from mine, and you may be sure it is no pleasant
thing in the end; I was at last about to jump down from the
drawers."

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was a lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of read more

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was a lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away

Our God and soldier we alike adore - Just at the brink of ruin not before - The danger past, read more

Our God and soldier we alike adore - Just at the brink of ruin not before - The danger past, both are alike requited; God is forgotten and the soldier slighted

And he smote them hip and thigh with a great slaughter: and he
went down and dwelt in the read more

And he smote them hip and thigh with a great slaughter: and he
went down and dwelt in the top of the rock Etam.

O little Force that in your agony
Stood fast while England girt her armour on,
Held high read more

O little Force that in your agony
Stood fast while England girt her armour on,
Held high our honour in your wounded hands,
Carried our honour safe with bleeding feet--
We have no glory great enough for you,
The very soul of Britain keeps your day.