Each time you go out in the cloudy sky
Remember the blind never see what you see
It's selfish to over little problems cry
Be grateful that you can see nature's beauty ...
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.