THE LONE SENTRY
A grave and solemn man was he,
With deep and somber brow;
The dreamful eyes seemed hoarding up
Some unaccomplished vow.
The wistful glance peered o’er the plain
Beneath the starry light,
And with the murmured name of God
He watched the camp that night.
The future opened unto him
Its grand and awful scroll—
Manassas and the Valley march
Came heaving o’er his soul,
Richmond and Sharpsburg thundered by
With that tremendous fight
That gave him to the angel host
Who watched the camp that night.
We mourn for him who died for us
With one resistless moan,
While up the Valley of the Lord
He marches to the Throne!
He kept the faith of men and saints
Sublime and pure and bright;
He sleeps—and all is well with him
Who watched the camp that night.
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