While still the heart of youth is gay, And honour crowns the hoary head, While men and women love and pray Song is not dead.

Till the tread of marching feet Through the quiet grass-grown street Of the little town shall come, Soldier, rest awhile at home.

While the banners idly hang, While the bugles do not clang, While is hushed the clamorous drum, Soldier, rest awhile at home.

In the breathing-time of Death, While the sword is in its sheath, While the cannon's mouth is dumb, Soldier, rest awhile at home.

Not too long the rest shall be. Soon enough, to Death and thee, The assembly call shall come. Soldier, rest awhile at home.

Last night, when at parting Awhile we did stand, Suddenly starting, There fell on my hand

Something that burned it, Something that shone In the moon as I turned it, And then it was gone.

One bright stray jewel - What made it stray? Was I cold or cruel, At the close of day?