THE WARRIOR'S FINAL REST

By Martha Morgan Boltz

Second Vice President, Virginia Division, United Daughters of the Confederacy
Fairfax Chapter #1410


They called him "Little Sorrel"
In a deprecating say,
But little could they know that he
Would follow Stonewall's Way.

At fifteen hands, he still stood tall
Through Shenandoah's rolling hill
A brave and stalwart charger, he
A hero's heart would later fill.

So beat the drum slowly, and skirl the pipes lowly,
The warrior seeks his rest.

Sound of limb and strong of heart,
The little gelding ran,
With flashing eyes and flowing mane
And coat of sweated tan.

Amid the dark of deepest night
Coat crusted deep with snow,
He stood and waited til the light
To signal time to go.

So beat the drum slowly, and skirl the pipes lowly,
The warrior calls for rest.

The thread that ran 'twixt man and beast
Bound up in deepest love;
The soldier's dream, the horse's task
Ordained by God above.

When Stonewall died, the gelding knew
From deep within that burly chest
A strangled whinny rent the air,
For one he loved, who knew him best
.
So beat the drum slowly, and skirl the pipes lowly,
The warrior yearns for rest.

No more the battle field to roam
No more to feel life's pain,
Eternal rest 'mid pastures green
Those hooves now fly again.

From dust he came, to dust return
Through time and ages past,
Returning home, a hero's grave--
His soul at peace, at last.

So beat the drum slowly, and skirl the pipes lowly,
Our warrior's now at rest.