Words by Father Ryan. Music by W. Ludden.

Young as the youngest who donned the gray,
True as the truest who wore it,
Brave as the bravest he marched away,
(Hot tears on the cheeks of his mother lay);
Triumphant waved our flag one day,
He fell in the front before it.

Chorus.—A grave in the wood with the grass o’ergrown,
A grave in the heart of his mother,
His clay in the one, lifeless and lone,
But his memory lives in the other.

Firm as the firmest where duty led,
He hurried without a falter;
Bold as the boldest he fought and bled,
And the day was won—but the field was red;
And the blood of his fresh young heart was shed,
On his country’s hallowed altar.

On the trampled breast of the battle plain,
Where the foremost ranks had wrestled,
The fairest form ’mid all the slain,
Like a child asleep he nestled.

In the solemn of the woods that swept
The field where his comrades found him,
They buried him there—and strong men wept,
As in silence they gathered ’round him.