of the 3rd Regiment Association, on May 10, 1872, in reply to the second regular toast:
‘Our dead.’
Erect upon a granite base
He looks toward the glowing
West;
How stern and sad his noble face,
How watchful!—thoa he stands at rest.
He seems to scan with steadfast gaze
The foeman's dark'ning line of blue;
Does he perceive across the haze
The glancing bay'nets flashing through?
One hand with ev'ry clinched nerve
Grips hard the gun o'er which he bends;
The other hangs in graceful curve
Which rounds the sinewy fingers' ends.
Behold!—no carpet-knight is he,
His manly grace is Nature's own;
In ev'ry feature one may see
The light that's caught from battle alone.
His garments rough are old and worn,
Hard used the shoes upon his feet,
That belt and cartridge-box were borne
In many a victory and retreat.
Upon this soldier's stalwart form
No stars, no bars to mark his grade,
And on his modest uniform
Not ev'n an humble worsted braid.
He's but a private!—All unknown,
He gives his strength, his blood, his life,
Content to fall, obscure, alone,
Unheeded in the deadly strife.
