NOT the muffled drums for him Nor the wailing of the fife. Trumpets blaring to the charge Were the music of his life. Let the music of his death Be the feet of marching men. Let his heart a thousandfold Take the field again! Of his patience, of his calm, Of his quiet faithfulness, England, build your hero's cairn! He was worthy of no less. Stone by stone, in silence laid, Singly, surely, let it grow. He whose living was to serve Would have had it so. There's a body drifting down For the mighty sea to keep. There's a spirit cannot die While one heart is left to leap In the land he gave his all, Steel-like to praise and hate. He has saved the life he spent— Death has struck too late. @3Not the muffled drums for him Nor the wailing of the fife— Trumpets blaring to the charge Were the music of his life. Let the music of his death Be the feet of marching men. Let his heart a thousandfold Take the field again!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APPRECIATION by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 14. OVER THE COFFIN by THOMAS HARDY AN HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND by ANDREW MARVELL THE METEMPSYCHOSIS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH BOB CRUIKSHANKS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE SHEPHERD'S CONTENT by RICHARD BARNFIELD SPIRITUAL WORSHIP by BERNARD BARTON COMMENDATORY VERSES TO WILLIAM BROWNE'S 'BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS' by WILLIAM BASSE |