| THREE years ago, to-day, | |
| We raised our hands to Heaven, | |
| And, on the rolls of muster, | |
| Our names were thirty-seven; | |
| There were just a thousand bayonets, | 5 |
| And the swords were thirty-seven, | |
| As we took our oath of service | |
| With our right hands raised to Heaven. | |
| |
| Oh, 't was a gallant day, | |
| In memory still adored. | 10 |
| That day of our sun-bright nuptials | |
| With the musket and the sword! | |
| Shrill rang the fifes, the bugles blared, | |
| And beneath a cloudless heaven | |
| Far flashed a thousand bayonets, | 15 |
| And the swords were thirty-seven. | |
| |
| Of the thousand stalwart bayonets | |
| Two hundred march to-day; | |
| Hundreds lie in Virginia swamps, | |
| And hundreds in Maryland clay; | 20 |
| While other hundreds—less happy—drag | |
| Their mangled limbs around, | |
| And envy the deep, calm, blessed sleep | |
| Of the battle-field's holy ground. | |
| |
| For the swords—one night a week ago, | 25 |
| The remnant, just eleven— | |
| Gathered around a banqueting-board | |
| With seats for thirty-seven. | |
| There were two came in on crutches, | |
| And two had each but a hand, | 30 |
| To pour the wine and raise the cup | |
| As we toasted "Our Flag and Land!" | |
| |
| And the room seemed filled with whispers | |
| As we looked at the vacant seats, | |
| And with choking throats we pushed aside | 35 |
| The rich but untasted meats; | |
| Then in silence we brimmed our glasses | |
| As we stood up—just eleven— | |
| And bowed as we drank to the Loved and the Dead | |
| Who had made us thirty-seven! | 40 |
