THE SILENT ARMY.

To those who smile, and those who weep,

To those who sing, and those who sigh,

There comes the same long final sleep,—

There comes the time when each must die.

We watch the faces as they pass —

We say of some, “How very fair ":

Nor think how soon the churchyard grass

Will thrive upon the beauty there.

The objects of our love we take

Close to our hearts and call them ours!

They are the gods we ne'er forsake,

But crown them every morn with flowers.

We dip them o'er and o'er again

In love's immortal fount; but when

We find that all has been in vain,

God shield us in our anguish then.

The Death-drum beats, the roll is called,

New names are on the list to-day:

Some answer calm and unappalled

As if‘ twere pleasure to obey.

For life to them was full of pain,

Death opened wide the only door,

While others weep and plead in vain

For just one little moment more.

Through all the springs that come and go,

At noon, at night, at early dawn,

Through summer's heat and winter's snow,

That silent army marches on!

On, on forever to the tomb!

They pitch no tents along the way;

On, on, it is the common doom,

There's no return and no delay.

They take no purse nor scrip with them

However rich they were before;

The brow of beauty wears no gem,

And slaves are men — and kings no more.

From every land, and sea, and clime,

Through all the ages that are gone,

Through all the years of future time,

That host has marched — will still march on.

And shall we of to-morrow boast?

This very night may seal our doom

And find us with that shadowy host,

Whose line of march is for the tomb!

Death and the tomb! our hearts rebel,

And wonder why such things should be;

Great God, who doeth all things well,

We leave these mysteries with Thee!

Thou knowest why, and we shall know

When raised in triumph from the grave,

Redeemed from death, and sin, and woe,

Through Him who hath the power to save.