On a Soldier's Funeral

No pipes have skirled;
But Heaven's wildest music blares;
Above the compound lightning flares,
The rain is whirled.

No drums shall roll—
Only a private soldier gone!
The cold light paints no funeral stone—
No bell need toll!

He lived his tame
And little day of silent tasks
And silent duty—no one asks
To know his name.

The milestones fade
Along the road that he has come.
No cheer of music takes him home—
His wage is paid.

The wind shrills high,
The darkened day is chasing grief
With lash of blinding rain—and brief
The footfalls die.
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