The Bivouac of the Dead

Words: Theodore O'Hara

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

   Rest on, embalmed and sainted dead, 
      Dear is the blood you gave- 
   No impious footstep here shall tread
      The herbage of your grave.
   Nor shall your glory be forgot
      while fame her record keeps,
   Or honor points the hallowed spot
      Where valor proudly sleeps.

   Yon marble minstrel's voiceless stone
      In deathless song shall tell,
   When many a vanquished year hath flown,
      The story how you 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.