The soldier sleeps in "his low green tent,"
Encoffined in the mold,
The selfsame stars in the firmament
Are shining as of old.
The same dear flag that he loved so well
Above him still doth wave,
And the sweet wild rose and the asphodel
Are growing on his grave.
Encoffined in the mold,
The selfsame stars in the firmament
Are shining as of old.
The same dear flag that he loved so well
Above him still doth wave,
And the sweet wild rose and the asphodel
Are growing on his grave.
Asleep, asleep, is the soldier there,
And he'll not wake for a martial air.
Asleep, asleep, is the soldier there
And he'll not wake for a martial air.
And he'll not wake for a martial air.
Asleep, asleep, is the soldier there
And he'll not wake for a martial air.
The soldier wakes with a sudden thrill,
The reveille of God
Has sounded forth from the throned hills
And burst the matted sod.
An Angel read from the records then
On leaves of flaming gold,
They gave their lives for their fellow men,
As Jesus did of old.
The reveille of God
Has sounded forth from the throned hills
And burst the matted sod.
An Angel read from the records then
On leaves of flaming gold,
They gave their lives for their fellow men,
As Jesus did of old.
Abide with me, is the Lord's reply,
And dwell for aye with the saints on high.
Abide with me, is the Lord's reply,
And dwell for aye with the saints on high.
And dwell for aye with the saints on high.
Abide with me, is the Lord's reply,
And dwell for aye with the saints on high.
82
