Now that the work of blood and tears is done,
Whether of stern assault, or sudden raid,
Yours is a record second yet to none--
None takes your right in line, Mahone's Brigade.
Now that we've lost, as was fore-doomed, the day--
Now that the good by ill has been outweighed--
Let us plant olives on the rugged way,
Once proudly trodden by Mahone's Brigade.
And when some far-stretchen future folds the past,
To us so recent, in its purple shade,
High up, as if on some "tall Admiral's mast,"
Shall fly your battle-flags, Mahone's Brigade.