Bury the brave man dead
Where he fought and fell;—
Where the bubbling stream runs red
In the narrow dell;
While tears of, heartfelt sorrow rise
To dim the rugged soldiers’ eyes.
But the green grass will grow,
After one sad year;
By the grave the stream will flow,
Pure and bright and clear.
And joy through all our grief will well,
To think how true the man who fell.
And the long years will bring
An unclouded fame;
And unmingled joy will spring
When men hear his name.
Till every voice in poean high
Has joined in the exultant cry—
“The brave man’s death is victory.”