The Anxious Dead
O
guns,
fall
silent
till
the
dead
men
hear
Above
their
heads
the
legions
pressing
on:
(These
fought
their
fight
in
time
of
bitter
fear,
And
died
not
knowing
how
the
day
had
gone.)
O
flashing
muzzles,
pause,
and
let
them
see
The
coming
dawn
that
streaks
the
sky
afar;
Then
let
your
mighty
chorus
witness
be
To
them,
and
Caesar,
that
we
still
make
war.
Tell
them,
O
guns,
that
we
have
heard
their
call,
That
we
have
sworn,
and
will
not
turn
aside,
That
we
will
onward
till
we
win
or
fall,
That
we
will
keep
the
faith
for
which
they
died.
Bid
them
be
patient,
and
some
day,
anon,
They
shall
feel
earth
enwrapt
in
silence
deep;
Shall
greet,
in
wonderment,
the
quiet
dawn,
And
in
content
may
turn
them
to
their
sleep.
