it matters

The noble ruins of men lie buried here

You are strong men, good men.

Endowed with youth and much the will to live.

I hear no protest from the mute lips of the dead.

They rest; there is no more to give.

So long my comrades,

Sleep ye where you fell upon the field.

But tread softly please

March O’er my heart with ease

March on and on

But to God alone we kneel.