Survivors.

How solemn, as one by one, As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty--as the men file by where I stand; As the faces, the masks appear--as I glance at the faces, studying the masks; As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are;-- How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to you! I see, behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul. O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend, Nor the bayonet stab what you really are. --The soul, yourself, I see, great as any, good as the best, Waiting secure and content,--which the bullet could never kill, Nor the bayonet stab, O friend!