Classic Poem

Their bivouac was on a hill,
Under the far-off camp-fires of the stars.

And they sang in mighty chorus all together
A hymn before the battle:

“We fight not for ourselves, Lord God of Hosts,
But for the land that bore us: our fatherland:
Whose soil is sacred with our fathers' ghosts,
And there our dear homes stand.

“Give us the battle, Lord of Sabaoth,
And thou shalt have the last gasp of our breath:
For the land that bore us, we are nothing loath
To go down dark in death.

“A people bow them to thee, Battle-Lord,
Our wives and children send into our blows
A passion that shall make our swords thy sword
And scatter all our foes.”

When the youth heard this,
A glad forgetfulness of self swept him;
He was a man among men:
He was but one of a host:
And the great Cause, the Cause of a Nation and of a People and of a Land
Caught him like fire and burned him up into the flames …