THE soldier fought his battle silently.
Not his the strife that stays for set of sun;
 It seemed this warfare never might be done;
 Through glaring day and blinding night fought he.
There came no hand to help, no eye to see;
 No herald's voice proclaimed the fight begun;
 No trumpet, when the bitter field was won,
 Sounded abroad the soldier's victory.
As if the struggle had been light, he went,
 Gladly, life's common road a little space;
 Nor any knew how his heart's blood was spent;
Yet there were some who after testified
 They saw a glory grow upon his face;
 And all men praised the soldier when he died.