(In Memory of J. W. T. Jr.) br HE was a soldier in that fight br Where there is neither flag nor drum, br And without sound of musketry br The stealthy foemen come. br Year in, year out, by day and night br They forced him to a slow retreat, br And for his gallant fight alone br No fife was blown, and no drum beat. br In winter fog, in gathering mist br The gray grim battle had its end— br And at the very last we knew br His enemy had turned his friend.