THE SOLDIER

The large report of fame I lack,

And shining clasps and crimson scars,

For I have held my bivouac

Alone amid the untroubled stars.

My battle-field has known no dawn

Beclouded by a thousand spears;

I’ ve been no mounting tyrant’ s pawn

To buy his glory with my tears.

It never seemed a noble thing

Some little leagues of land to gain

From broken men, nor yet to fling

Abroad the thunderbolts of pain.

Yet I have felt the quickening breath

As peril heavy peril kissed —

My weapon was a little faith,

And fear was my antagonist.

Not a brief hour of cannonade,

But many days of bitter strife,

Till God of His great pity laid

Across my brow the leaves of life.