Classic Poem

More than half beaten, but fearless,
Facing the storm and the night;
Breathless and reeling, but tearless,
Here in the lull of the fight,
I who bow not but before Thee,
God of the Fighting Clan,
Lifting my fists I implore Thee,
Give me the heart of a Man!

What though I live with the winners,
Or perish with those who fall?
Only the cowards are sinners,
Fighting the fight is all.
Strong is my Foe — he advances!
Snapped is my blade, O Lord!
See the proud banners and lances!
O spare me this stub of a sword!

Give me no pity, nor spare me;
Calm not the wrath of my Foe.
See where he beckons to dare me!
Bleeding, half-beaten — I go.
Not for the glory of winning,
Not for the fear of the night;
Shunning the battle is sinning —
O spare me the heart to fight!

Red is the mist about me;
Deep is the wound in my side;
" Coward " thou cryest to flout me?
O terrible Foe, thou hast lied!
Here with my battle before me,
God of the Fighting Clan,
Grant that the woman who bore me
Suffered to suckle a Man!