The Outpost

The dying sunset's slanting rays

Incarnadine the soldier's deed,

His sturdy countenance betrays

The bull-dog breed.

Not his to shun the stubborn fight,

The struggle against cruel odds.

Alone, unaided 'tis a sight

For men and gods.

And now his back is bowed and bent,

Now stooping, now erect he stands,

And now the red life blood is sprent

From both his hands.

He takes his enemies on trust

As one who sees and yet is blind,

For every mutilating thrust

Comes from behind.

'Tis done ! The dying sun has gone,

But triumph fills the soldier's breast.

He's sewn his back brace button on

While fully dressed.