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O little Force that in your agony
Stood fast while England girt her armour on,
Held high read more
O little Force that in your agony
Stood fast while England girt her armour on,
Held high our honour in your wounded hands,
Carried our honour safe with bleeding feet--
We have no glory great enough for you,
The very soul of Britain keeps your day.
If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one would remain in the ranks
If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one would remain in the ranks
A thousand leagues of ocean, a company of kings,
You came across the watching world to show how heroes read more
A thousand leagues of ocean, a company of kings,
You came across the watching world to show how heroes die.
When the splendour of your story
Builds the halo of its glory,
'Twill belt the earth like Saturn's rings
And diadem the sky.
Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives
And he smote them hip and thigh with a great slaughter: and he
went down and dwelt in the read more
And he smote them hip and thigh with a great slaughter: and he
went down and dwelt in the top of the rock Etam.
Our God and soldiers we alike adore ev'n at the brink of danger; not before: After deliverance, both alike requited, read more
Our God and soldiers we alike adore ev'n at the brink of danger; not before: After deliverance, both alike requited, Our God's forgotten, and our soldiers slighted
When the action was over and they were returning with joy, they
recognized Nicanor, lying dead, in full armor.
When the action was over and they were returning with joy, they
recognized Nicanor, lying dead, in full armor.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
. . . read more
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
. . . .
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
