The Silent Battle

He was a soldier in that fight

Where there is neither flag nor drum,

And without sound of musketry

The stealthy foemen come.

Year in, year out, by day and night

They forced him to a slow retreat,

And for his gallant fight alone

No fife was blown, and no drum beat.

In winter fog, in gathering mist

The gray grim battle had its end —

And at the very last we knew

His enemy had turned his friend.