Oh, band in the pine-wood, cease!
Cease with your splendid call;
The living are brave and noble,
But the dead were bravest of all!
They throng to the martial summons,
To the loud, triumphant strain;
And the dear bright eyes of long-dead friends
Come to the heart again!
They come with the ringing bugle,
And the deep drum's mellow roar;
Till the soul is faint with longing
For the hands we clasp no more!
Oh, band in the pine-woods, cease!
Or the heart will melt in tears,
For the gallant eyes and the smiling lips,
And the voices of old years.