Classic Poem

The warrior, when he sinks to rest,
By many a grateful tongue is blest;
His decent grave demands a sigh
From everyone that passes by.
Tread lightly on the hallowed soil
Where he is resting from his toil.
And think upon the woes he bore
When you were couched in peace before.

Remember all the toil and pain
He suffered in the long campaign,
And how he fainted on the way
While untrod leagues before him lay;
How oft he saw his fellows fall
Where gleamed the sword, and flew the ball.
But now in a celestial band,
He triumphs in a happier land.