A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was a lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away.
Of all the joys that lighten suffering earth, what joy is welcomed like a new born child?
For death and life, in ceaseless strife, Beat wild on this world's shore, And all our calm is in that balmâ€” Not lost but gone before.
A child's eyes, those clear wells of undefiled thoughtÂ—what on earth can be more beautiful? Full of hope, love and curiosity, they meet your own.
Old Time, who changes all below, To wean men gently for the grave.