By the bivouac’s fitful flame,
A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,
Curious I halt and silent stand.
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies,
I mark’d at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier
Grieve not so, dear mother.

As I stand here recalling the toils of war,
Memories of seeing my comrades fall
And smoke clouding my vision flood my mind.
I see the artillery surrounding our camps,
Protection from the coming brigades.

By the bivouac’s fitful flame,
A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,
Curious I halt and silent stand.
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies,
I mark’d at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier
Grieve not so, dear mother.

The guns fire; they still ring in my ear.
Men’s undulations as they feel the bullets enter,
Fighting with loyalty for their country.
When all they are, is a cog in the war machine.

By the bivouac’s fitful flame,
A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,
Curious I halt and silent stand.
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies,
I mark’d at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier
Grieve not so, dear mother.

In the midst of the assault,
I watch all of my brethren collapse to the ceaseless gun fire.
Suddenly, I felt an ungodly, terrible pain.
When I realized I had been shot and was dying,
A wave a calamity rushed through me before I closed my eyes for the final time.

By the bivouac’s fitful flame,
A sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim,
Curious I halt and silent stand.
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies,
I mark’d at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier
Grieve not so, dear mother.