XLIV

THERE is a word

Which bears a sword

Can pierce an armed man.

It hurls its barbed syllables,—

At once is mute again.

But where it fell

The saved will tell

On patriotic day,

Some epauletted brother

Gave his breath away.

Wherever runs the breathless sun,

Wherever roams the day,

There is its noiseless onset,

There is its victory!

Behold the keenest marksman!

The most accomplished shot!

Time’s sublimest target

Is a soul “forgot”!