It is not the guns or armament Or the money they can pay, It's the close co-operation That makes them win the day. It is not the individual Or the army as a whole, But the everlastin' teamwork Of every bloomin' soul.
But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat The soldier's last tattoo; No more on Life's parade shall meet The brave and fallen few. On Fame's eternal camping-ground Their silent tents are spread, And Glory guards, with solemn round The bivouac of the dead.