Hush'd be the Camps To-day

 1
HUSH’D be the camps to-day; 
And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons; 
And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate, 
Our dear commander’s death. 

No more for him life’s stormy conflicts;
Nor victory, nor defeat—no more time’s dark events, 
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky. 

2
But sing, poet, in our name; 
Sing of the love we bore him—because you, dweller in camps, know it truly. 

As they invault the coffin there;
Sing—as they close the doors of earth upon him—one verse, 
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.

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