by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Sleep, comrades, sleep and restOn this Field of the Grounded Arms,Where foes no more molest,Nor sentry’s shot alarms!
Ye have slept on the ground before,And started to your feetAt the cannon’s sudden roar,Or the drum’s redoubling beat.
But in this camp of DeathNo sound your slumber breaks;Here is no fevered breath,No wound that bleeds and aches.
All is repose and peace,Untrampled lies the sod;The shouts of battle cease,It is the Truce of God!
Rest, comrades, rest and sleep!The thoughts of men shall beAs sentinels to keepYour rest from danger free.
Your silent tents of greenWe deck with fragrant flowers;Yours has the suffering been,The memory shall be ours.
Longfellow’s Poetical WorksCopyright 1893Henry Frowde, London