GONE 



That the bravest and fairest are earth-worms' 

 food 

 When once they've gone where we all 

 must go. 



With the pistol clenched in his failing hand, 



With the death mist spread o'er his fading 

 eyes, 

 He saw the sun go down on the sand. 



And he slept, and never saw it rise ; 

 'Tw^as well ; he toil'd till his task was done, 



Constant and calm in his latest throe. 

 The storm was weathered, the battle was won, 



When he went, my friends, where we all 

 must go. 



God grant that whenever, soon or late, 



Our course is run and our goal is reach'd, 

 We may meet our fate as steady and straight 



As he whose bones in yon desert bleach'd ; 

 No tears are needed — our cheeks are dry, 



We have none to waste upon living woe ; 

 Shall we sigh for one who has ceased to sigh, 



Having gone, my friends, where we all 



must go ? 



II 



