Ad Finem Fideles
At rest upon the roadway that their feet unfaltering trod, The faithful unto death abide, with trust unshaken,
The morn when they shall waken to the reveille of God.
The faithful unto death ! Their sleeping-places over
The torn and trampled clover to braver beauty blows ; Of all their grim campaigning no sight or sound remaining,
The memory of them mutely to greater glory grows. Through waning ages winding, new inspiration finding,
Their creed of consecration like a silver ribbon runs, Sole relic of the strife that woke the world to wonder
With riot and the thunder of a sundered people's guns.
What matters now the cause? As little children resting,
No more the battle breasting to the rumble of the drums, Enlinked by duty's tether, the blue and gray together,
They wait the great hereafter when the last assembly
comes.
Where'er the summons found them, whate'er the tie that bound them,
'T is this alone the record of the sleeping army saith : They knew no creed but this, in duty not to falter,
With strength that naught could alter to be faithful unto
death.
NEW YORK, 1898.
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