To fight aloud is very brave-
But gallanter, I know,
Who charge within the bosom,
The Cavalry of Woe-

Who win, and nations do not see-
Who fall- and none observe-
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love-

We trust, in plumed procession
For such the Angels go-
Rank after Rank, with even feet-
And Uniforms of Snow.