The Uniform Worn by the Infantry Man

The uniform of an Infantry man,
The vibrant blue, the shinning gold, and the fading tan.
Differing from the Artillery or Cavalry man.
The uniform worn by the Infantry man.

The different kinds of moving ways,
But the heart and the mind all in the same.
Marching through what they can,
And finding joy in what they cant.
Ah, the uniform worn by the Infantry man.

His brogans and his neck stock chaffing his skin.
His buttons of glory shinning
Though through much they have been.
His bayonet ready for his gun in hand.
Oh, the uniform worn by the Infantry man.

Marching to the beat of a drum,
And a flittering fife.
Entering a battle, long fought into the night.
The gunfire of both Yankee and Rebel,
Heard throughout the fight.
The tails of the battery seen in the sky,
Like that of a kite.
Stained on the blue is that of red,
Wearing the blood of another man.
Tis the uniform worn by the Infantry man.

Standing tall and standing true,
The poise of the man who wears the valiant blue.
Suffering through death like no man ought,
Wishing to make his mark,
Should he, in the future, be forgot?
The heavy burden of moral pressed hard against his back,
Carrying it and his homeland like no other can.
Shout Huzzah! Huzzah!
For the uniform worn by the Infantry man.