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PRWATE EDWIN ADAMS SGT. Tnoivms Smsmcx
Only graduates of O. C. H. S. to be lost in action.
Taps at Twilight
Blow softly, bugles, for our honoured dead,
And tell them, where they sleep thru sun and rain,
The secret of their rest can now be read
By us who know they have not died in vain.
Blow proudly, bugles, with a new born pride
In our beloved dead, who slumber on,
Still holding dear the Cause for which they died,
Yet died scarce knowing how the day had gone.
Tell them, loud bugles, we have heard the call,
The call from mounds where tender grasses creep.
lf we break faith with them. we too shall fall
And we in unremembered graves may slccp.
So blow, bravc-noted, through our ranks of doubtg
The goal is dim, the field is still unwon,
The night is dark, thc hounds of wrath are out,
And a thousand terrors cloud the sun.
But blow, proud bugles, sweet and silvery soft
And tell them valour walks their vanished world.
The torch their hands released is held aloft,
The riddled Hag of honour floats unfurled.