COME from my first, ay, come! The battle-dawn is nigh; And the screaming trump and the thundering drum Are calling thee to die! Fight as thy father fought; Fall as thy father fell; Thy task is taught; thy shroud is wrought; So forward and farewell! Toll ye my second, toll! Fling high the flambeau's light, And sing the hymn for a parted soul Beneath the silent night! The wreath upon his head, The cross upon his breast, Let the prayer be said and the tear be shed, So, -- take him to his rest! Call ye my whole,--ay, call The lord of lute and lay; And let him greet the sable pall With a noble song to-day. Go, call him by his name! No fitter hand may crave To light the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf of a soldier's grave. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOT DEAD by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES ON SOME LINES OF LOPE DE VEGA by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) THE THREAD OF LIFE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI FROM A YOUNG WOMAN TO AN OLD OFFICER WHO COURTED HER by ELIZABETH FRANCES AMHERST THE SOLITARY TOMB by BERNARD BARTON ANOTHER SPRING by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |