O CHRISTIAN soldier! shouldst thou rue
Life and its toils, as others do--
Wear a sad frown from day to day,
And garb thy soul in hodden-gray?
O rather shouldst thou smile elate,
Unquelled by sin, unawed by hate,--
Thy lofty-statured spirit dress
In moods of royal stateliness;--
For say, what service so divine
As that, ah! warrior heart, of thine,
High pledged alike through gain or loss,
To thy brave banner of the cross?
Yea! what hast thou to do with gloom,
Whose footsteps spurn the conquered tomb?
Thou that through dreariest dark can see
A smiling immortality?
Leave to the mournful doubting slave,
Who deems the whole wan earth a grave,
Across whose dusky mounds forlorn
Can rise no resurrection morn,
The sombre mien, the funeral weed,
That darkly match so dark a creed;
But be thy brow turned bright on all,
Thy voice like some clear clarion call,
Pealing o'er life's tumultuous van
The keynote of the hopes of man,
While o'er thee flames through gain, through loss,--
That fadeless symbol of the cross.
