The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo,
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few.
On fame's eternal camping ground,
Their silent tents are spread,
And glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.

Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
In deathless song shall tell,
When many a vanished year hath flown
The story how ye fell;
Nor wreck, nor change, nor winter's blight,
Nor time's remorseless doom,
Can dim one ray of holy light
That gilds your glorious tomb.